Imladris
by aja aron
Summary: Ensemble piece, but Aragorn and Legolas centric. Imladris fights to protect Legolas, Aragorn and its own borders. "The bruises were fewer but still apparent and another set of crisscrossed cuts graced the area above the left shoulder blade..."
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Not Mine. This story takes place pre-LOTR. Aragorn and Legolas centric - one of those how and when did they meet stories - and as the title indicates a great majority of it takes place in Imladris. AU-ish. Playing fast and loose somewhere between Movie and Book (i.e. not strictly cannon, don't expect it to be ;D)._

_Rating: PG_

* * *

**Imladris** _by Aja_

* * *

_These woods have grown even darker since I last rode among them_, thought Gandalf, sparing a look behind him towards the rise of Dol Guldur. The White Council had driven Sauron from the hill, but its shadow loomed ominously, allowing no more for a watchful peace. Mirkwood pressed around him and the foreboding he'd felt at the start of this journey increased with every step.

_Has it been so long?_ He mused. He wondered how he would find the kingdom of Thranduil. He wondered how he would find Legolas.

_I should not have waited so long to make my return._

One year had passed and then another and he'd been caught up in the affairs of men, and hobbits, and all those outside this realm, and suddenly years had passed since he'd checked into the battle with darkness Mirkwood fought. A battle with darkness that would not remain grounded in this wood. It was growing. Sooner rather than later, Gandalf feared this darkness would be the battle of all middle earth. _Would they so easily forget the elves of Mirkwood then? Would he? _It should not have taken a vision in Galadriel's mirror to set him on this journey.

_All things in their time, _he reminded himself. _All things in their time._

"Nooooo!" His silent musings were abruptly interrupted. The shout startling his steed. Bringing the ancient horse around, the Istari shot off in the direction of the cry. The trees seemed to part before him, hastening his arrival to a large clearing up ahead. He was greeted by the sight of two large spiders poised over a struggling elf.

"Gandalf!" This shout came from behind him. The wizard turned to see Legolas leaping from one tree to another and then down towards him, his bow and arrow aimed as he did so. Quickly Gandalf reared his horse towards the place the elf would reach ground. He arrived just in time for Legolas to land lightly behind him on the horse, keeping to his feet as he fired two arrows simultaneously. Both spiders hissed and fell. The elf on the ground ceased to struggle, collapsing in relief, and the Istari's ancient horse slowed his gallop to a stop.

For a moment all motion seemed to cease, the only remaining sounds coming from Legolas's heavy breathing and the whispering in the trees.

"Well met, Legolas. Well met," chuckled the old wizard. "I'd almost forgotten what an adventure Mirkwood could be."

He felt the young elf ease himself down behind him, and could hear his heavy breaths as he replied, "I apologize for the lack of formality in my own greeting, but you are welcome indeed."

Gandalf turned to see the elf's rueful grin, noting the darkness of his eyes and the small scrapes on his temple.

"Had we known of your coming we would have killed these spiders hours ago." Legolas gestured to the two large bodies, now shriveled in their deaths. Additional elves emerged from the trees, helping the trapped elf on the ground get to his feet while scanning the area for new threats. Some of the elves turned towards Gandalf, making gestures of welcome and respect, which he carefully returned.

"Had you killed them hours ago, young Legolas, I would have missed quite an adventure."

"If I may say so, you arrived at an opportune moment."

"As I've always claimed, young elf, a wizard arrives precisely when he means to." Gandalf turned the horse to follow the departing company of elves, motioning for Legolas to stay mounted on the horse when he would have otherwise slipped off to walk with his companions. "Does your father typically allow you to travel out this far for spiders?" The elf continued to breathe heavily at his back and Gandalf frowned slightly. Elves were not prone to heavy breathing, or of wearying easily and Legolas seemed both.

"For spiders—not typically," Legolas admitted. "They have pressed closer to the core of the kingdom in recent years. We attack the nests that we can find and patrol the borders to keep them from moving closer. We do not stray far into the wood without purpose, for recently we have discovered increasing evidence of orcs within our realm. We thought it necessary to follow their tracks if we could."

"So now it is orcs pressing close as well as spiders. Your kingdom has not found the reprieve from this battle I hoped it would." He sighed. "And I fear the darkness you have been facing will soon not only be the problem of Mirkwood."

"The darkness grows inward, yes," replied Legolas, in a careful tone that worried the wizard more than the warning in Galadriel's mirror could have predicted. "Faster than we seem able to fight it," the young elf concluded. "Is this why you have come to us now?"

"In a manner of speaking," Gandalf answered vaguely. "It is not a discussion we need immediately have. I wish for you now to tell me about you. How have you been faring?"

"I am well." The answer was swift—too swift for Gandalf's liking.

"You seem... weary," he probed further.

"I am well."

Gandalf grunted. Legolas could be maddeningly reticent but Gandalf would have time to drag the truth from the elf, and if he couldn't, he knew Lord Elrond would.

* * *

The great hall of Mirkwood carried in its presentation the contrasting feelings of formality mixed with unpretentious wild struggle the other elven kingdoms did not even vaguely reflect—the battle-ready stance against the darkness creeping around their borders all too apparent in each inhabitants interactions. It was in the walls, in the sounds, in the heavy footsteps of the King.

_How far has this darkness reached_? Mithrandir wondered. Footsteps of elves could rarely be described as heavy, but here they were, weighted down, echoing through the great hall, apparent in the line of the king's shoulders and the graceful tilt of his head. He sighed. It was a difficult thing he would be requesting of the battle-weary king. He hoped it would not cause Mirkwood to further separate itself from the support of other elves or races. For soon, Gandalf feared Middle Earth's ability to unify would be required for its survival.

"You've come to take my son," Thranduil said without greeting, without preamble, his back facing the wizard, eyes fixed on the trees outside his hall's large windows.

"I have," admitted Gandalf, adjusting easily to the directness of the conversation.

"To Imladris?"

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"No. I have not yet told him. I desired first to speak with you, old friend."

"Old friend?" the king scoffed at him.

"For my part, yes," Gandalf insisted.

The king turned, fixing him with a gaze of fire. He seemed on the verge of exploding but refrained himself by some unseen restraint. His anger deflated with a weighty sigh. "Yes," his voice was a whisper, but it echoed powerfully through the hall just the same, his eyes darkening with sorrow. "Yes. _Old friend_. Gandalf. _Friend_ you have always been." His tone softened. "Take him as you will, and _go_."

"I will deliver him to Imladris and then I shall return."

"Your presence is not required here, Mithrandir."

"Perhaps not, but something is coming—something may already be here. You will need help in overcoming the darkness pursuing this kingdom. Its touch grows stronger."

"It grew stronger long ago. In truth I am weary of fighting it," Thranduil admitted. "I am weary of keeping it at bay."

The light through the window caught Thranduil's brow and Gandalf was struck with the impression of age. The king looked old. Not simply in the ageless way ancient elves carried their wisdom—but well and truly aged. As old as Gandalf himself had begun to feel in these worrisome and curious days. "I will help you fight this evil, if you allow me," he said. "You are not alone."

Thranduil turned back to the windows, but a barely perceptible nod gave Gandalf his answer. The king would allow his help. Gandalf was relieved to note it but first he had to tend to Legolas and he feared already that the young elf would not understand. Giving a small nod of his head that may or may not have been noticed by the king, Gandalf took his leave.

* * *

The ride to Imladris was uneventful, made swifter by the non-appearance of orcs or spiders—made slower by the careful pace Gandalf set to account for Legolas's continued weariness—despite the denials.

The trip was also made mostly in silence.

This was not the first time Legolas had been remanded to neighboring kingdoms for one reason or another, his time in the House of Elrond foremost of them all. The young elf tried not to question, but Gandalf knew he would want to know the reasons behind his latest removal. Or perhaps, Gandalf wondered, Legolas already suspected the reasons behind his departure and didn't question so as to not have to discuss it.

He was an independent elf from a kingdom of distress, prone to wander. Raised with trust in the periphery of his father's visage, his comings and goings had been his own for a grand majority of his life. He'd seen and faced much trouble in those solitary days, internalizing everything, and thus was understandably overwhelmed when the council of Eldar—namely Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, Glorfindel and other Elf Lords—took active concern in his welfare. The concern from them was an adjustment for Legolas, who though gifted with some sense of the foresight and wisdom of his people, saw himself primarily as a warrior, not a prince.

Gandalf had wondered what the young elf felt about it all, though he'd never asked him. Legolas had been through much, _so very much_, thought the wizard. The young elf attracted trouble, and in most instances the trouble had been of no small concern. He carried many scars.

The last time he'd dwelt in Imladris, he'd been taken in to recover from an eleven year absence—held against his will at the hands of men, a group from the Corsairs of Umbar who'd come upon him and taken him captive during one of his explorations. For all their searching, Legolas had finally escaped on his own and been discovered by Elrond's sons, unconscious, on the outer rim of Rivendell's reach.

"We will be in approach to Imladris by morning," said Gandalf, breaking from his reverie.

"I remember the way," acknowledged the elf, sounding subdued.

"The house has missed you."

"That is kind to hear, though I doubt that is the reason I am returning."

It was the closest to a question that Legolas would come, Gandalf realized. He took a moment deciding how to respond. "Indeed," he began, "Our concern for you has grown. Something seeks you out. We know not what."

"I have not been in trouble, Gandalf. I have barely wandered from my own kingdom."

"Your definition of barely wandering is partly what concerns me," grunted Gandalf. "And one does not need wander from home to find danger—especially _your_ home." His tone turned serious. "You are weary, Legolas. Something ails you and you will not tell me what it is."

"I am well."

Sighing, Gandalf wondered why he allowed the young of the Eldar to so continually frustrate him. "Convince Lord Elrond of that as well, and I will cease to state it," he concluded simply.

* * *

Aragorn had been traveling with the Rangers of the North, and was now returning to the House of Elrond to seek reprieve from his wanderings and to gather information. He missed Rivendell. This was the longest he'd been away in some time. He wanted to see his family. His adopted father and brothers had prepared him well for life as a ranger, but insisted he remember where his home was, reminding him that he was young yet, even by human standards, and therefore bound to comply to this mandate.

Indeed, there were days he felt himself the youth they claimed him still to be, and others where age seemed to weigh upon him with years he had not yet lived. The timeless peace of Imladris was what he looked forward to now. Where he would be Estel. Where hope and peace seemed possible.

Already the land about him grew familiar.

He would be within the borders of his home by morning.

* * *

Dawn came quickly for Legolas—too quickly.

Though he would continue to deny it while he could, he _was_ weary—sore, and healing slowly. Leaping from tree to tree after spiders hadn't helped him any either. He would not be able to put Elrond off as he had The Grey Pilgrim. Neither one could he fool. He supposed he should not even try—but to give in would mean having to answer questions and submit to attention he did not want.

Trepidation filled him as he prepared himself for the final leg of their journey. It had been long since he had acted as citizen in this realm. Rivendell. Imladris. The Last Homely House. He'd longed to return. It had been many years, and he wondered... would he be received in the same manner? Was Elrond tired of taking him in?

Though they rode for some time—in silence—the city seemed to appear within moments. The anticipation Legolas felt intensified. Memories of his last journey to this spot pushed themselves to the front of his mind. The journey then had been in desperation and fear—fear that his captors would stop him before he reached the borders—fear that his absence from the world of elves would have caused him to be forgotten, or grieved for as one who had departed to the West. He needn't have worried then. He probably shouldn't worry now.

"We are on approach," spoke Gandalf.

Legolas nodded, knowing it was expected.

The gates of Rivendell beckoned. As they rode through them, the young elf believed he could see Lord Elrond standing above them on a balcony so high it was barely touched by trees, but he could not be certain, even with his elf eyes.

A young elf met them shortly thereafter, waiting to stable their horses.

Legolas hesitated.

"Legolas?" Gandalf questioned.

"I was hoping to stable her myself. I do not want her to feel unsettled. I can meet you by the steps."

The wizard acquiesced. "We will be waiting for you."

The elf rubbed his horse's nose while watching Gandalf move towards the entrance to the halls. He breathed out in relief, grateful he would have a moment to collect himself before the scrutiny and the inevitable questions that would come.

The stables were silent as he entered and he wasted no time settling his horse. With the task complete, he leaned carefully on the gate to the trim stall, composing himself and even allowing himself to feel glad at seeing the House of Elrond and at the prospect of seeing friends he'd sorely missed.

A small sound prompted him to rise. Casting out his senses, he searched for what portion of the sound had set him on edge. It certainly wasn't elven. With swiftness he didn't feel his body capable of, he spun, drawing his bow and arrow with him in the same motion. Before he'd taken his next breath he'd let his arrow fly, knowing with certitude he'd hit what he intended.

* * *

Aragorn woke one hour before the sun even thought of joining him. He was exhausted, but his anxiousness to return home no longer allowed him sleep. Deep into the evening, he'd had the odd sensation that he was being followed and had ridden farther in the dark to avoid any who might be seeking to make him their quarry. When he woke in the morning, the feeling remained, though none of his senses could account for why it was there. Twice he doubled back just to see if there were any strange tracks overlaying his previous path. He found nothing.

_Riding with the rangers has made you paranoid_, he told himself. No doubt it was his imagination, or, at worst, the sons of Elrond out to play a trick on him. He would no longer allow his foreboding to keep him from his destination. Quickly he pushed his horse to a gallop, taking the last stretch in a hurried lope when the gates of Rivendell finally winked before him. He grinned, saluting the sentries as he rode past.

The pasture by the stables revealed a strange new horse that could only belong to Gandalf. Aragorn smiled, it had been many years since he'd seen the old wizard. He would be pleased to speak with him again, to share his tales and hear more of Gandalf's at the same time. He would be pleased as well to take him into his council. Gandalf knew well the growing trials facing Middle Earth. Gathering what Gandalf knew at any opportunity was imperative.

The majestic beast was staring with intensity towards the stables. _Gandalf must be in there_, Aragorn reasoned. Hoping to surprise him, he slid off his horse, removed the bridal and set the horse free into the pasture before stealthily stepping towards the stable's interior. The sight that greeted him was the last thing he'd expected.

* * *

"How is he?" asked Elrond of Gandalf, forgoing all other formality after they'd gripped hands.

"He states that he is well."

"Yet you do not believe him."

Gandalf dipped his head. "He has never been forthcoming when it concerns his own welfare. But that is your responsibility now. I assume you have spoken with Galadriel?"

Elrond nodded. "I have. Her inability to specify the danger he faces causes me more concern than anything else. Of puzzlement, she expressed some worry for the whereabouts of Aragorn as well. I would send out scouts for him, but I fear at this point if I were to do such a thing it would draw attention to him that he is safer without. Something is coming though. I have felt it."

"I will be passing through a few of the towns before I return to Mirkwood. I will leave word for him if I can."

"Thank you," Elrond replied sincerely. "You will be returning to Thranduil then?"

"I feel that I must. What seeks to threaten Legolas's safety is in the heart of that kingdom. That is where we must first investigate." Gandalf didn't meet Elrond's eyes as he spoke. They were never completely comfortable discussing Mirkwood, or Thranduil.

Though great was his respect for the wisdom of the Elvenking and the darkness his people faced, it had been hard for Elrond to send Legolas back to his father's kingdom, knowing the battles he could be returning to. Only Gandalf had been able to convince him the young elf's return to Mirkwood was necessary. It was due to that conversation, Elrond knew Gandalf now was now alluding to things Elrond had hoped Legolas would not have faced.

It was a hard thing to have them confirmed.

"His relationship with the King?" Elrond ventured to ask.

"Difficult at the least, I'd say. Thranduil loves his son. Of that I have no doubt. But Legolas might. He is so much like his mother. We can believe that he has had some trying years. Be patient with him if he is not at first the Legolas you remember."

Elrond nodded, saddened. "He carries too many scars for one so young of our people. I vaguely remember the days when his visits did not require such grave invitations."

"If we keep him on his path," replied Gandalf, "he will have better days ahead. Keep in mind that this is no simple visit. The threat is clouding itself, cloaking itself in such a way that it may be difficult to discover. He is in your charge."

"I will ensure his safety." Elrond nodded. Gandalf wasn't making fleeting statements, nor was he saying anything Elrond did not already know, but they were things Legolas would have to be reminded of. The young elf was like a son to him. Perhaps he would need reminding of that as well.

Gandalf coughed, and began to speak once more. "You are blessed with the gift of foresight, and I fear you will need it. It concerns me that this threat remains so cloaked in shadow."

Elrond opened his mouth to answer when a splitting cry from the stables drew their attention from whatever else might have been said between them. Together they rushed towards the sound.

"Legolas," muttered Gandalf worriedly.

"Aragorn," added Elrond, gesturing to the new horse in the pasture. "We must hurry."

* * *

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The moment Aragorn passed into the darkened interior of the stables he sensed something amiss and tensed to listen. Through the shadows, some sound caught his attention—some sound out of place in these stables. He took a careful step, trying to decide if he should call out to Gandalf or remain silent. The wooded edifice creaked ominously and he decided to hold his tongue. Nervously, he glanced around, wishing his eyes could adjust to the dark as easily as an elf's. His firm but cautious hand found the hilt of his sword and gripped it tightly.

Suddenly, out of the dark, a whirl of blond elf appeared before him. An elf with an arrow, already notched and pointed straight at his head. Before he could breathe in enough air to cry out or twitch, the arrow in the elf's bow was released.

Aragorn had no time to duck, and for one horror-filled moment he believed he would die.

The arrow whistled smoothly, cutting through the air right next to his ear before striking something behind him that grunted as it fell forward, crashing into his shoulder before sprawling silently at his feat. Relief swept through with his next breath but lingered only a moment—replaced with urgency when he realized the creature that had been crouched behind him, ready to kill, was an orc. He shook himself and took to action. He could see more of them now and quickly drew his sword to join the fray.

With the one dead, the remaining orcs attacked together with frantic force, leaping out at them indiscriminately. The young ranger found himself knocked to the ground, pinned fiercely by two of them. A well-placed upward kick and a hasty roll to the left pushed the creatures off, allowing him the opening to regain his leverage. He caught one fatally with his sword in the same motion, then lunged and rolled after the second, striking out with his weapon just as the knife-wielding orc regained his balance. It reared back at him but its actions were already too late. Aragorn's blow hit first, and it fell dead next to the first.

Glancing right, he watched the strange elf eradicate two others using long knives seemingly pulled from nowhere.

Staring around, Aragorn's heart pounded, ready for the next threat.

Nothing came.

It had all taken mere seconds. The unexpected battle was over.

He began to lower his sword and open his mouth but was forced abruptly to close it when in another flash of movement the elf's long knives were set tightly against his throat, silently and effectively pinning him to the wall. Staring, he found a pair of intense dark eyes looking attentively into his own.

Slowly, he lifted his hands away from his body, dangling his sword from his right palm cautiously by the hilt. He had never seen this elf before and was certain only that he was not from Rivendell. He was a wood elf, Sindar or Silvan to be sure—clad in simplistic browns and greens—an intensity in his gaze to rival Elrond's. Aragorn had encountered wood elves before and heard tale of them from his brothers—knew their mother's kin to be of their kind, and had heard they'd once traded often with the Ad_û_n. They were said to be good folk, powerful and pure, less civilized in the ways of men than Rivendell's elves, but graceful and strong—steady.

This elf shook—the tremble in his hands causing small vibrations in the knives at Aragorn's throat.

"What strange devilry finds a wood elf battling orcs in the heart of Imladris?" he spoke, showing not the slightest bit of fear, though he felt it in his spine.

"One not quite as evil as that which places _man_ in the same position," the elf's silver voice spoke in return.

A measuring silence followed. Their gazes stayed locked, neither one blinking. As he stared, the ranger felt something prickling in his mind—something like recognition, though he was certain he had never seen this elf before.

"Legolas, hold! He is friend," Gandalf's commanding words cut in abruptly, easing the deadlock, and Aragorn was freed from contemplating the strange feeling further as the elf's knives vanished from his throat. Aragorn took a breath of relief but held his eyes steady on the stranger as he sheathed his knives and backed away to lean against the stall opposite. Both of them maintained the gaze a moment longer, then, as if by mutual agreement, turned to look at the authoritative wizard standing in the doorway next to Lord Elrond.

Aragorn straightened his stance subconsciously, absently noticing that the wood elf did the same.

"What happened?" questioned Elrond, stepping closer, adopting an expression of grim wonder as he surveyed the remnants of the battle.

Silence.

Aragorn shifted and looked back at the elf, seeing in him the same inability to answer. _What were they to say?_

* * *

Carefully, Gandalf stepped into the stable and made his way closer to the near combatants, scanning their faces for clues to this event. Legolas was pale and trying desperately not to look it, holding his arms stiffly to his body. Aragorn's own wearied appearance suggested he had traveled far, and slept little. This was a welcome neither should have received.

He turned his head, watching as Lord Elrond surveyed the two as well, noting the way he drew his eyebrows low when he observed the careful way Legolas stood and Aragorn's straight but tired slump. The wizard was only slightly amused to see both beings shuffle their stances in a fruitless attempt to appear fit.

Charily, Elrond reached out to the young ranger, lifting his chin and swiping softly at the traces of blood smearing the right side of his neck.

Legolas glanced from Aragorn to Gandalf then stared at the floor, closing his hands at his sides.

Elrond said nothing as he let go of Aragorn's jaw. He bent then to flip one of the orcs onto its back, checking for markings or signs of life. With a sigh he moved toward the door, calling for the Imladris Guard.

In his absence, Gandalf bent to examine one of the slain himself, feeling a disconcerting tightening in his spine. Orcs? How is it possible that orcs had come to pass the outer gate undetected in this elven realm? A realm these creatures hadn't been seen in or dared venture through for an age? _ Most troubling. Most troubling indeed. _When he looked up, both Aragorn and Legolas were watching him. He thought of the warning in Galadriel's mirror and felt his spine tighten even more.

"Come," he ordered the two of them as he stood. "We will leave this to the Guard."

Simultaneously, they nodded.

Gandalf waited, his expression tipping just slightly towards grumpy.

Taking the hint, Aragorn pushed himself away from the wall, preceding Gandalf out the door. Legolas followed after more slowly, receiving the wizard's scrutiny when he paused to steady himself against the stall and glance worriedly towards the exit. Gandalf reached for his elbow. "Take heart, Legolas, you were not to know of Estel's presence. You are not to be faulted for your reaction."

"Estel?" Legolas questioned. "Dúnedan?"

"Indeed," answered Gandalf, tightening his grip on the elf's arm as he felt him falter. Legolas allowed him the balancing grip, prompting the wizard to give him another look born of concern and suspicion as he led him into the sunlight. They found Aragorn speaking closely with Elrond, presumably giving him an account of the attack. Elrond's hand was on the man's shoulder, demonstrating welcome and affection while scanning the surrounding area with his elven eyes for further threats.

The guards were also at work, searching for any evidence or clue that might explain the event.

Legolas stepped back slightly. Gandalf presumed he meant to move away from the single-minded elves rushing by, but the young elf's eyes weren't watching the the frenzied proceedings of the Imladris Guard. Nor were they watching Elrond and Aragorn. They were swiftly taking in all the evidence of their own accord—tracking and planning. Gandalf could see it in his eyes.

Reaffirming his grip on Legolas's elbow as he leaned towards him and said with precision, "Legolas, leave this to the Imladris Guard. This now is not your responsibility."

Making eye contact, then glancing once towards Elrond, Legolas nodded in silence.

Gandalf held eyes on his face a moment longer, and once faintly satisfied, began to turn away. At that moment, he was startled by a familiar, grinning elf at his shoulder. "Elladan," he acknowledged, smiling at Elrond's son warmly, noting that the dark-haired, smoky-eyed elf seemed annoyingly pleased to have caught him off guard.

"Gandalf," he gestured genially. "It is so good to see you."

"And you," he returned, but Elladan's eyes were no longer upon him.

"Legolas!"

Legolas's face slipped into a wide, genuine grin that Gandalf was pleased to see. He released his elbow and allowed him to step forward. Simultaneously covering their hearts in a familiar gesture, the two elves clasped hands to shoulders, the emotion of their reunion charging the air between them. _This is why we've sent him here_, thought Gandalf. _Here, where the calls of old friendships may remind him, in whatever he faces, he is not alone._

Elladan spoke, "It is wonderful to see you, mellon nin, though I must say... you look terrible. And what a welcome you've had upon your return... dragging trouble wherever you go."

Legolas's grin widened with each of Elladan's impertinent words.

"I wish I could greet you properly, Legolas," Elladan continued, "but with you dragging orcs into our fair city I will now be otherwise occupied." He motioned to the guards around him and before Legolas could reply, if he would have replied, Elladan added, "Elrohir is leading the search at the gates, but will be pleased to be informed you are all in one piece. We will speak with you when we return." With that he was off, stopping briefly to clasp his hands on the back of Aragorn's shoulders before disappearing into the activity.

* * *

For Legolas Greenleaf, arriving in Imladris was a whirl of confusion. He had not been certain how he would be received but encountering both orc and man had not occurred to him in any of his imaginings. He felt odd, out of place—almost as if he weren't really in Imladris, but was instead pushing his way through a particularly challenging waking dream.

Yet, seeing Elladan for those brief moments had made the years of his absence disappear. For a second he felt the hope that everything might be as it once was. He'd felt so comfortable here—_then_—so long ago. Now it felt as if he were a stranger.

The past would have found him running off _with_ Elladan, helping in every way he could and being trusted to do so—as though it were his own home, his own realm. He would not have been held back by Gandalf, and the guards would not have treated him with such polite and distant courtesy. He recognized many of them, but there seemed no time to acknowledge it. He wanted to join, to track the orcs' passing, to discover the root of this mystery. Coming form Mirkwood, he was experienced at such things. He'd wanted to insist, but the words stuck in his throat.

Then there was the question of the man. Young. A ranger by appearance. A man of the north in the way he moved. He knew their kind and was aware they occasionally sought refuge in Rivendell. But this man seemed more than guest. He seemed like friend—even family, to the halls of Elrond—demonstrated by the easy familiarity with Elladan and Lord Elrond both.

It had been instinct to attack him—the detection of an unelven scent straining his frayed nerves, though he hardly wanted to admit those as the source of his idiocy. He already feared that by his actions he had both angered Elrond, and shown his own weakness.

"Legolas," Elrond spoke, breaking him of his thought, walking towards him with purpose. He nodded to the ranger at his side in the form of formal introduction. "This is Estel, sometimes called Strider. A Ranger of the North, but he makes his home here. Estel, Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm."

Legolas inclined his head and Estel did the same.

Elrond gave a nod then, and the ranger took his leave, glancing back at them briefly as he trotted up the main stairs before vanishing into the halls.

Left alone with the elf lord and the wizard, Legolas tried to diplomatically wall his gaze. Rivendell's master didn't seem fooled. Placing unyielding hands on Legolas' shoulders, Elrond met his gaze with deep searching eyes that nearly pierced Legolas to the core.

He swallowed tightly.

"Are you well?" Elrond asked sternly.

Legolas managed a tactful nod but was pinned with a doubtful expression. After a moment, the look softened. Elrond's voice turned gentle. "Welcome back, young one."

Despite the web of control Legolas had wound so tightly around him, a grip of emotion constricted his throat in response to the words. He managed another formal dip of his head. "Thank you for receiving me."

Elrond sighed and released him. "You are most welcome," he said, but pinned the young elf with a stern gaze. "But, we will discuss your definition of 'well' very soon—and it will not be a short conversation."

Legolas nodded, uncertain whether the Lord was concerned or annoyed.

Elrond stepped back and called to one of the guard, issuing the simple order for Legolas to be escorted to his room to settle. Turning back to Legolas, he added, "If you wish to go elsewhere, I would ask that you stick to the courtyard, and await me there."

Much as the ranger had done before, Legolas took his leave to obey, though Gandalf stayed with him, following at his back all the way to his quarters.

The wizard paused at the arched entry to the room. "Legolas," he began. "I must conference with Elrond, but I will speak with you at length very soon. I realize these were not the circumstances we were expecting you to come into, and though it is difficult, you must leave these current events to Imladris, and take your rest."

Legolas turned towards the city, staring out the windows at the tall view. At the activity still apparent below. He felt a stiffness in his ears. "Mithrandir? Did I bring them here?"

Gandalf stepped further into the room. "We do not know yet what brought them here but it is not your responsibility," he said, then hesitated in his exit. "Legolas, you will keep to Elrond's counsel. I must trust you to do this. Do you understand?"

"I understand," said Legolas, though indeed he didn't.

After another long look, Gandalf left him in peace.

Sinking to sit near the bench by the window, Legolas released a breath, feeling considerable relief at the opportunity of solitude. He tried to settle his mind. Standing again, he wandered slowly about the windows, then restless, took leave of his room, making his way to the courtyard as he was allowed.

As he walked he wondered again what he was doing here. Wondered what darkness he'd brought with him, and why no one had yet told him of what Galadriel had seen in her shinning mirror. Mention of it had, in fact, not been said directly to him at all, but he feared he had brought the battle of Mirkwood with him, and could not understand how those with such advanced gifts of foresight could allow it.

* * *

After recounting the skirmish to Lord Elrond, Aragorn had wanted to remount and ride will Elladan and Elrohir in their search. It was his lingering curiosity over the strange elf's presence, and Elrond himself, that succeeded in holding him back.

"You've traveled far. Your brothers will handle this. You should take some rest and recover from your journey," his father had told him, orders veiled as suggestions. Aragorn knew them for what they were and acquiesced to the mandates.

After procuring a simple meal, he'd seen Gandalf making his way into one of the rooms in Elrond's upper halls, following the elf from the woodland realm. Aragorn watched until they disappeared from sight, then took the opportunity to stroll the familiar halls and settle his thoughts from the chaos of his arrival.

At no point had this wood elf seemed truly evil, he thought—not even while holding blades to his throat. It was a common enough reaction in a heated situation and had the roles been reversed or had Aragorn been a tad quicker, it would have been the elf who found himself pinned by a reflexive accusatory gaze.

_Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm_—that was how he'd been introduced. It was too simplistic to satisfy the ranger. He decided he had two things to investigate—the orc attack and Legolas Greenleaf.

* * *

Elrond sighed stiffly when Gandalf next appeared at his elbow.

"Any news?" asked the wizard.

"Not yet, but the border guards are only now starting to return. Elladan and Elrohir will be with them. I hope they will have found something useful."

"The attack was quite unexpected. And only five orcs, cloaked from eleven senses enough to pass the guard? It is all very strange," added Gandalf, his deep voice full of foreboding.

"Five orcs," Elrond succinctly replied. "They do not usually travel in such small groupings. But to pass the borders—to reach the stables unnoticed? They could not have done it if there had been more."

"But to what purpose? A misguided attempt at assassination? No," replied Gandalf. "I dare say there would have been easier opportunities to attack us during our journey, which was quiet, perhaps eerily so. We assume these orcs were specifically after Legolas because he is who we are trying to protect and is therefore present in our minds. But only recently have we become aware of the dangers surrounding him. It seems somewhat illogical that some dark plot would so effectively choose him as the only victim of this attack."

"Legolas is an elf with exceptional gifts—a warrior of astounding light," pondered Elrond aloud. "If his danger has increased, then there is something reaching out to him. Something may yet happen beyond what we have feared."

"He is of an exceptional heart, as are you, as is the Evenstar. It is the sad result for you all as darkness naturally fights against light. We've seen it push in on Legolas before. But why _now_ are those efforts being increased? How is it tracking him? How did it know where he would be? We are missing information. And let us not forget he was not the only one who arrived today. Aragorn's destiny cannot be dismissed, though he may deny it with the belief of his chosen exile. If eyes have been set upon him, we must consider that possibility."

With cautious eyes, Elrond nodded in agreement.

Gandalf continued, "When I arrived in Mirkwood, Legolas informed me that orcs have been seen more frequently in their woods, pushing closer to the kingdom. They have attempted to track their movements but have not been successful."

"There is more going on than we believed. I will ask Galadriel if orcs may have also been seen in Lothlorien."

"Surprised I would be indeed if orcs have found a way to penetrate the golden wood."

"Ada."

Both Gandalf and Elrond looked toward the voice to see Elladan and Elrohir approaching them.

"What news, my sons?" asked the elder elf once the two had reached them.

Gandalf held up a hand to hold them from speaking, "Perhaps we should invite Legolas and Aragorn to join the discussion. I fear they may both be feeling left out—and it was they who fought this battle."

Elrond paused, then agreed. "Yes. They should be here. And I still need speak with Legolas. Our greeting thus far has been brief and I fear already I am failing in my duty to him. He did look weary. Gandalf, what injuries might he be concealing?"

"I could not tell, only sense that all was not well with him."

"His greeting _was_ distant," agreed Elladan. "He spoke to me not at all, but I also did not allow him the time and he has never been one to waste words. He did smile, though, as if he were happy to see us." Elladan shook his dark head as though sorting a puzzle.

"I believe he is busy playing the role of polite guest," offered Gandalf. "Uncertain of his place here—he fears being a burden and, after the attack, perhaps feels his presence has brought strife."

"Estel was a surprise to him," Elladan added ruefully.

"Indeed," the wizard continued his thoughts. "He senses the connection our young ranger has to the House of Elrond and is most likely hoping to make up for their awkward meeting with exaggerated decorum."

Elrohir smiled. "Knowing them both as I do, Gandalf, I do not believe decorum will impede them for long. I will call them to our assembly."

"No, wait," said Elrond. "Legolas will be waiting in the courtyard. I do not doubt Estel will be near as well. We will join them there."

* * *

Aragorn watched the wood elf silently from the interior of a large stone archway. The elf was slowly following the paintings that told the history of the last Great War. He stopped when he got to the painting of Isildur cutting off the ring, studying it closely before turning to view the ancient sword lying opposite. He stared at it for quite some time, then stepped closer, lightly brushing it with the tips of his fingers. Most people who saw the sword expressed fascination—even awe. The flash in Legolas's clear blue eyes hinted at something else. Aragorn felt the sudden compulsion to find out what it was.

"Many times have I stood fixing my eyes on Isildur's sword," he spoke respectfully as he slowly stepped forward.

The elf did not appear surprised by his presence. He kept his focus on the sword as he replied. "When first I came to Imladris and saw this sword, it was as if it called to me. I have spent much time pondering its history. Men may mock elves for their impressions of both future and past—and I have not the gift of foresight to the extent of Lord Elrond—but I have always felt that I was... that I _am..._ tied to its fortune—that its fate and mine are on the same path." His voice was soft enough to be a whisper, yet at the same time carried through the courtyard.

Aragorn felt a chill pass through him. He tightened his muscles then forced them to relax. Did the wood elf know who he was? Swallowing he asked, "You have been to Rivendell before?"

Legolas nodded. "I have known the halls of the house of Elrond and often longed to return. Imladris has well earned its reputation as the Last Homely House. There is much peace here."

The ranger nodded.

"But that is something you seem to already know," continued the elf. "If my observations do not deceive me, these halls welcome you as though this was your home. Lord Elrond introduced you as Estel. That is no name of man. Even among the Dúnedain."

Aragorn paused, lifting his chin. He was not comfortable with his true identity, nor ready to allow those beyond his closest kin the knowledge of who he truly was, but coming to a decision, he stepped closer. "By the Rangers of the North I am known sometimes as Strider. In these halls I am called Estel because that was the name Lord Elrond gave me when he took me into his house and raised me as his own."

"Yes," replied Legolas. "You looked as though your bond was close."

"My mother brought me here as a child. Elrond promised her he'd look after me."

"Then you are lucky indeed. He takes such responsibilities seriously." The elf turned to face him. The hostility that had shown from his eyes in the stable was gone.

Aragorn abandoned most of his suspicions as well. He and this elf had fought well together. He wanted to make peace. He wanted to understand. He suddenly also wanted the conversation to take leave of its serious tone. "You seem a very strong fighter, your archery skills served us well today."

Legolas smiled briefly, then drew his eyes downward. "As did your sword. I apologize for my actions. You... were a surprise to me."

"I don't suppose it matters as long as only the orcs were killed, and we were not."

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

"I wonder, master elf, if you would further demonstrate your skill with the bow. The archery court is not far from here."

The elf stared at him in silence, an expression Aragorn couldn't read flashing across his face. The look grew in intensity and he had the feeling it had nothing to do with the invitation he'd just extended. Eventually, the expression softened. Legolas looked away altogether and said, "Your father requested that I wait for him here. I would not at this point disobey him."

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow, puzzled at the elf's comment. Never had he known his father to be such a demanding host. Perhaps things were different in Mirkwood. "I assure you that Lord Elrond is not in the habit of so strictly restricting the wanderings of his guests. We can leave word where we have gone."

Legolas looked at him again. The same intense look as before—making Aragorn certain it had nothing to do with his request. This time the look grew, as though Aragorn were a riddle Legolas was trying to sort. At length the elf just just shook his head, turning his eyes away as he stepped back a pace. "I should not be found where Lord Elrond does not want me, though I thank you for your invitation," he said.

Aragorn wanted to say something else to put the elf's fears at rest, but another voice cut him off. "It is well he remains where he is, Estel. You should stop trying to tempt him otherwise. You've only just come back and already you are trying to put Ada in a frustrated mood."

It was Elrohir.

Aragorn smiled despite himself. "I have no idea of what you speak."

"Of course you do. You've only just arrived—under attack of orcs, I might add—and already you are seeking further trouble with none other than young Legolas who has quite enough trouble of his own. Both of you seeking trouble at the same place and time would be more than any of us could handle," added Elladan, stepping into the courtyard beside his brother.

Legolas moved himself closer to the wall, a small smile flitting across his face before glancing in his direction and melting again into the expression Aragorn was beginning to grow uncomfortable with. Perhaps it was only curiosity, but the look was keenly scrutinizing, cutting through to the bone.

Also, Aragorn was beginning to feel he'd missed something. His brothers teased him about attracting trouble all the time, but walking down to the archery court was not usually a teaseable topic.

He was trying to formulate a defense when Elrond's voice interrupted. He and Gandalf followed his brothers into the courtyard. "Elladan, leave him alone, he did not know."

'Didn't know what?' Aragorn wondered.

* * *

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Aragorn's silent question went unanswered. Just as he was about to voice it aloud, he was cut off by Elladan saying, "You are right, Ada, I'm sorry."

Aragorn lowered his eyebrows and looked at Elrond, but before he had a chance to formulate his question again Elrohir's serious voice ended the levity lingering in the courtyard. "We've come to tell you what we found," he said.

"Indeed," said Elrond. "We should get to the matter at hand."

Aragorn moved closer to the group while Gandalf seated himself on a smooth stone bench near the stiffly standing Legolas. The ranger scrutinized both elf and wizard, believing he detected some hidden conversation shift silently between them. He wished he'd had the opportunity to ask more questions of the elf—been more pointed about discovering his purpose here. Imladris was not unaccustomed to granting sanctuary to any number of Middle Earth's beings and Aragorn had seen many strangers pass through the gates but he was beginning to suspect Legolas was no simple visitor.

As the ranger looked on, the elf lifted his eyes. As before, they locked gazes, the wood elf's stare returning to its scrutinizing intensity.

_What does he see when he looks at me to prompt such a puzzling response?_ Aragorn wondered to himself.

"We were able to follow the tracks only a short distance before they disappeared," Elladan began to explain. "We continued in their direction to see if we would find further trace of them but were unable to distinguish much. The tracks looked to be heading south through the mountains, as though seeking the road to Moria, yet we cannot know for certain for there were other tracks also. These departed from the the main group and seemed to seek another road—east, towards Mirkwood."

At Mirkwood's mention, Legolas looked up.

Elladan broke from his monologue to give Mirkwood's representative his attention. "Legolas, please."

Legolas hesitated, then nodded. "We have been seeing signs of orcs throughout the forest during our patrols for some time now. Only recently have we been able to discern how close they were coming to the heart of our kingdom. As though they've learned to better cloak themselves from our senses. But the patterns in their approaches... it began to appear to me almost as though..."

"As though what?" prompted Elrond.

Legolas turned towards him, leaving his hands to his sides as he spoke, appearing to play the part of reporting soldier, his faintly diplomatic stance contrasting against the casual pose of his listeners. "It appeared to me almost as though they were scouting. Searching for something, or scouting as soldiers would scout territory for battle. We've been preparing for the worst, though in recent weeks there's been mostly silence."

Elrond's gaze lingered on the elf.

Aragorn knew that gaze. He'd been the victim of that gaze. He'd seen it directed at Elladan and Elrohir also. A gaze that found its victim immediately searching his conscience for all unspoken deeds both good and ill. And though the look wasn't directed at him, Aragorn found himself doing just that, grateful that the fire in Elrond's eyes currently pointed elsewhere.

He wasn't sure what he expected his father's next words to be, but was startled by their calmness and gentility. "Have they attacked at all?"

"No," answered Legolas. "They keep to the shadows."

"What says King Thranduil, Legolas?" asked Elrohir.

Inexplicably, both Gandalf and Elrond tensed.

Legolas's eyes flashed to the ground. "Only that the situation concerns him. He has kept the guard close to the kingdom, with greater numbers about the border. Only recently did we try to follow the tracks to the source. They disappeared where the forest grew dense. The trees speak of them but express only confusion about their purpose and destination. In many parts of the wood their song has grown more keenly sorrowful but we do not know why," Legolas broke off, seeming self conscious, glancing around as if worried he'd said too much or spoken out of turn.

Elrond's fierce gaze intensified.

"Your father has said nothing more than expressed concern?" pressed Elrohir.

_His father? The King?_ Aragorn swept his stare from his brother towards Legolas and back. Gandalf had not introduced the young elf as a prince.

"We have been fighting darkness for centuries," admitted Legolas, frustration leaking through his voice. "It attacks both within and without. And though we watch closely the fires of Dol Guldur—the true source of this darkness has never been clear to us."

"But its efforts have grown more intense," said Gandalf. Whether it was question or statement was unclear.

"Yes," said Legolas.

"And is Mirkwood so prideful that they would not send for aid?" Aragorn questioned sincerely, meaning no offense. Simply sensing urgency, and wondering in some part if that was the wood elf's purpose here.

Emotion charged the elf's response, decorum momentarily cast aside, "It is not pride, _Ranger_. We would not spread our burden to realms in peace until we were certain it was necessary. The orcs have not attacked us and if they do, our warriors are skilled. They've had to be. We fight our battles and fight them well so they do not spread to those who might otherwise needlessly share our fate." Legolas pinned Aragorn with darkening eyes when he finished—their blue hue clouding dark. Then—as the courtyard crashed into motionless silence, the elf seemed to realize what he'd said. He darted a regretful look at Elrond before dropping his eyes to the ground and leaving them there, his body tense with the barest trace of shaking.

Elladan made a motion to approach but Elrond stopped him with an uplifted hand, shaking his head.

Gandalf rose to his feet smoothly. "Yes, well, I think I shall see how my mount has been responding to this morning's excitement. If you'll excuse me."

Elladan and Elrohir seemed to quickly take the hint. Elladan turned to follow the wizard, while Elrohir headed towards Aragorn. Neither bothered to make an excuse for their exit.

Legolas continued staring at the ground. Elrond continued staring at him.

Aragorn felt his confusion grow. He wanted to say something to placate the situation, but couldn't find the words. Elrohir tapped his shoulder, then with a grip to his elbow, pulled him away, leading him back towards the inner hall.

A final glance over his shoulder allowed him to see his father approach Legolas and lay his hands on wood-elf's shoulders.

Aragon hadn't meant to provoke the reaction he got. He had a feeling it could have been avoided if someone—anyone—would tell him what _precisely_ was going on. As soon as they reached the hall's interior, Elrohir would be answering some questions.

* * *

"Forgive me, My Lord. I should not have spoken as I did." Legolas didn't look up or change his stance as he said it. Obviously trying to control his breathing, he held himself rigid, tense under Elrond's hands.

Elrond sighed. Gandalf had been right. This was not the Legolas he remembered, hiding in decorum and formalities. He tightened his grip gently on the young elf's shoulders, "You have done nothing wrong, Little Leaf."

Legolas flinched at the nickname.

"Look at me," Elrond commanded.

Legolas obeyed, though his expression remained guarded.

Sighing again, Elrond exhaled his concern, emitting his frustration at the wall the young elf had thrown between them. "Legolas, you are not a stranger here. Not to these halls, and not to me."

Legolas nodded tightly and closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly. When his eyes opened again they were less guarded. In the more open expression Elrond could see his weariness. "I still apologize for my outburst," Legolas insisted. "I should not have taken offense when none was intended."

"Estel meant no criticism, but you hold the right to defend your kingdom. Mirkwood has done well in its battle. Do you believe I would hold you in anger for that?" Elrond released his shoulders, stepping back a pace.

The young elf took another breath and the older could see the nearly physical attempt he made at pushing his uneasiness from his mind. "No," he answered then lifted his head to boldly meet Elrond's eyes. "But you _are_ angry with me."

Elrond smiled sedately. This was more like the Legolas he remembered. "Is there a reason I should be angry with you?" he asked.

Legolas's eyes found the ground again, fidgeting while trying to come up with a response that would presumably not get him in more trouble.

Elrond approached him again. This time he loosely gripped his elbow. "I believe it is time we discussed your definition of 'well,' Little Leaf."

* * *

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elrohir fought a smile of laughter as he watched his brother pace the hall in frustration. "Estel, I do not understand why you are so upset," he said. In truth, he _did_ understand, but suspected Estel himself did not. He also knew his young brother fared better when he figured his mind out for himself.

"You tell me Legolas is Prince of Mirkwood, yet he does not act like a prince, nor was he introduced as one. You tell me he has dwelt as citizen of Imladris before, but you will not tell me why, nor have any of you so much as mentioned him before."

With exaggerated patience, Elrohir waited for the young man to finish.

"You tell me he is here now because Gandalf brought him, but you will not tell me why. Nor has anyone told me what danger he brings with him, yet I do not find his arrival and that of the orcs mere coincidence."

"I am not purposefully withholding information, Estel."

The ranger sat then rose again, waving a hand in the air. "It is like discovering I have a brother no one saw fit to tell me of."

Elrohir locked eyes with the young man, momentarily stunned. His brother's astuteness had grown sharper in his long absence. He wondered what observations had led him to make this brooding statement, one that was, for reasons he tried hiding even from himself, difficult to listen to. When he looked at Legolas he felt many of the same feelings his Dúnadan brother brought out in him. Legolas was _not_ his brother, any more than Aragorn was. And Elrohir was forced to remember this each time the wood elf's stays in Imladris came to a close and he was returned to a kingdom and king Elrohir did not fully understand, and likely never would. He was reminded that both Legolas and Aragorn had destinies beyond Rivendell, and faced dangers Rivendell could not protect them from.

For Elrohir, the distance between them was eased by hope for a future he saw only in dreams—hope of eventual peace in a place no longer called Mirkwood—hope for a time when Legolas might be free of his realm's worries. Free to return to them at will and with peace. Free to be spoken of more freely, without the grief or worry.

Elves lived with both the blessing and curse of such longsighted hope.

In the world of men, things were different and already Elrohir was being reminded of that. Estel—_Aragorn_—was not to remain his either. He was slowly giving himself over to the ways of the Númenor. Though Aragorn had chosen exile, Elrohir did not believe exile had chosen him. Aragorn, son of Arathorn. His exile would not last. It could not last. Not in these darkening days. No other being in Middle Earth could unite the rest, not elf nor dwarf nor even wizard. Only Aragorn.

Elrohir knew then where his allegiance would lie. Whether Aragorn chose it or not, he would bare the life of a king, and eventually, Estel to those in Rivendell, hope given over to men, would never return.

Despite his intentions, Elrohir discovered he had forgotten himself. When he looked into Estel's silent eyes he knew the fleeting melancholy of future loss had been aptly detected on his visage. His brother had stopped pacing and stood, respectfully silent. _What a man must learn while living with elves_, he mused, wondering what, if anything, his brother perceived from their long silences.

He tried to make his eyes look merry and spoke softly. "_Estel_," he said, savoring the name. It emerged more forceful than he intended but it kept him from the surprise they'd both have felt if _Aragorn_ suddenly slipped past his lips. "Yes, Estel, Legolas is measured as family here. We have not spoken of him because it is difficult to speak of those you worry about but can do little for. It was difficult for Ada to allow him to return to Mirkwood following his last stay in Rivendell. As for the rest of your questions, I do not have all the answers you seek."

Aragorn was listening, his head tilted slightly sideways. The look of an elf. "But you have some of them," he quietly accused.

"I know the council of Eldar want him here, and he is brought by their order. I do not know why. I wish he were here for any other reason but I remain glad to see him, as I am you. I do fear Gandalf perceives some danger surrounding him and has brought him for his protection, or perhaps because he is unwell—or both. Those are questions we may seek answers for together."

Aragorn sat down silently, listening to Elrohir's words, responding to the concern in them.

"And yes—he is a Prince of Mirkwood," Elrohir added, thinking he could at least try to answer one question more fully. "He does not introduce himself as such for many reasons. All of which I do not know. He has long had struggles with his father and—."

"And he fights his call to royalty just as you do, Aragorn son of Arathorn, for many of the same reasons," a new voice added.

"Gandalf," acknowledged Elrohir from where he sat on the stone steps, three or four higher than Estel. "How fairs your beast?"

Gandalf chuckled. "Well enough, elfling, well enough."

"Good, perhaps you can help answer some of our young ranger's questions. He has been quite unsatisfied with my answers."

The man looked up at the wizard. "I have another question I would ask of Gandalf, if he would answer."

"Speak on," said Gandalf. "Only by hearing the question will I know if I have an answer to give."

"Briefly, I spoke with Legolas in the courtyard. He was looking at Isildur's sword."

The wizard waited.

"He said he had always felt his path was tied to its future."

Gandalf nodded, not showing the surprise or consternation Elrohir suspected his brother was looking for. The young man's eyebrows tightened.

"Yes," said the wizard at length, "I believe this is so. Though whether that future be near or far I cannot tell. For now, we have other matters that concern us."

"Like stubborn wood elves and brooding rangers," said Elladan dryly as he joined them.

"Brooding?"

"No need to take offense, Estel. I'm simply telling the truth."

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest.

Gandalf quieted him with a lifted hand.

With reluctance the ranger did not pursue the lighter conversation.

"What of Legolas, Gandalf?" questioned Elrohir. "You and Ada have left us very uninformed."

Gandalf didn't get the chance to answer.

Elladan's impish face turned serious, "I saw Ada walking with him to the halls of healing."

Elrohir felt his hands go cold. "Do we presume to know his injuries?"

Estel's eyebrows lifted. "He is injured?"

"Wood elves are not so naturally pale, despite their fair complexions," said Gandalf.

"That is why Ada didn't want him to leave the courtyard," realized Aragorn. "Though if his wounds are serious, he certainly hid them well."

"It is not necessarily the seriousness of the wounds that concern us," explained Elladan. "It is the source of them, and the fact that he can be so stubborn about such things."

"Ada is more stubborn," insisted Elrohir who then stood and turned his head. "Estel, you are becoming a skilled healer, perhaps you should see if Ada needs your help."

Aragorn appeared to ponder momentarily. Elrohir could almost hear his thoughts, seeing him realize his answers were better to be found there, not here. "I will see what I can find out," he said, standing to move down the corridor.

* * *

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

After Estel left them, Elladan felt torn. This was a puzzle not easily solved—as if the pieces to it had been scattered in a great wind, each part now laying separate, hidden, over a thousand miles. It was difficult to know where to begin. And there was Estel and Legolas, and the all the confusion that should not have existed in their meeting.

He wished the young ranger had chosen to show up a week earlier. They would have then been able to better prepare him for Legolas's arrival. They would have been able to share some of their stories about Mirkwood's Prince. Elves could go twenty or thirty years without talking on a subject and still have it seem fresh in their minds. To men, twenty or thirty years could seem a lifetime—Estel's lifetime. They'd run into this issue with him before.

_"Estel, it was not a secret," determined Elladan to the young ranger he'd found trailing him in the woods._

_"Then why did you not speak of it?" the young man insisted. It was just before his departure into the wilderness—his first age as a ranger.  
_

_"We did not know Arwen would be returning from Lórien so soon," he placated._

_"So it was a secret?"_

_"No! Estel, Arwen has dwelt in Lórien for centuries. We speak of her. We communicate with her. We think of her often. We told you of the Evenstar of our people. We were not keeping her from you."_

_"I knew all about her," admitted Estel. "And yet I did not know she was daughter of Rivendell once more. I did not expect to encounter her in a procession of my own woods."_

_"Estel, it was not a secret," Elladan repeated, regarding his young brother with concern. There was more motivating the young man than his meeting with Arwen, he could tell._

_"Only recently have I been told of my own linage. Now I discover the Und__ó_miel is of what I once thought of as my own house. How can I not feel you are keeping secrets from me?"

Elladan mused on the memory tiredly, feeling Estel's lingering confusion in the atmosphere, as though it had been left sticking to the stone intrados of their enclosure, waiting to infect all those who remained. He understood the confusion, but it frustrated him. It was easy for elves to forget what time and information meant to a man being raised among them, one coming of age before elflings of his same year completely matured. _It must often make him wonder where he truly fits,_ thought Elladan. Aragorn—born of the North and of Gondor, yet raised as an elf in their best known stronghold. Perhaps Elladan would worry more if Estel _didn't_ feel conflicted.

The situation with Legolas was not so different—periodically trading his own court and kingdom for citizenship in another at the supposed whims of their Elders without ever fully knowing why.

"Elladan, what troubles you?" questioned Elrohir, cutting short his mind's journey.

"Besides the obvious?" he quipped casually.

"Yes, brother, besides that."

Elladan sighed. "Estel," he said simply. "He looks upon Rivendell as his reprieve from strife. He returns here only when the surrounding world has created in him the need for rest. Now he comes only to find more strife."

Elrohir nodded, lowering his chin a fraction. "And Legolas…" his voice trailed off. He did not have to say anything more. Almost as one the brothers looked towards Gandalf.

"You think I have the answers, do you?" huffed the Istari. "Do not look at me so. I can only guess at the meaning of these events."

"Dol Guldur has been revealed as a stronghold of Sauron. The Nazgul are being seen with more frequency. Rumors of dwarf wars with orcs are increasing and Mirkwood grows ever darker. You have been tracking these events, Mithrandir. What devilry singles out Thranduil's son? Is Sauron returning? You must know _something_."

"Sauron is a memory no longer," Gandalf admitted. "This you've known." His tone was a cautious contrast to the fervor of Elladan's. "He conceals himself, and his purpose. It seems to me he is waiting for something. And we wait in return to discover what it is. On that front we can now only watch, and prepare. And yes, some feeling in me fears that both Legolas and Aragorn may be in his sights before long. However, this current darkness—tied to Sauron it may be—but its source is quite different." Gandalf grunted, putting his empty pipe back into the folds of his robe. "My journeyings will soon return me to Thranduil's kingdom. There, I hope to discover more about this evil and, if I can, to push it back. Only then might I be able to tell you more."

"But those orcs were not in Mirkwood, they were here," insisted Elrohir. "They must have had a purpose here."

"Undoubtedly," said Gandalf, a meaningful twitch worrying his eyebrows.

"Perhaps we should follow the border again. Maybe we missed something," suggested Elladan.

"Agreed," said Elrohir. Together they rose in preparation to leave.

"I'll inform your father where you've gone," said Gandalf. "Be careful. I fear he has enough concerns before him without the two of you returning... broken... and mangled."

"Yes," agreed Elladan, "If it comes down to it, I'll be broken, Elrohir can be mangled, but we'll do our best to not be both." He smiled into the Istari's grumpy scowl.

"I'll trade you mangled for broken, Elladan. After all I was mangled last time. It's only fair to trade." Elrohir's face showed complete seriousness.

"But you do broken so well already. I need the practice," Elladan insisted, and they continued their debate until they were out of Gandalf's range of hearing, pleased and certain that his scowl had deepened with every word.

* * *

Legolas glanced around uncomfortably. He knew this room too well. The years away had not erased it from his memory. It had the open arching windows typified by all Imladris structures, but still led him to feel trapped and closed in.

He was seated on the edge of one of the room's heightened divans. It was tall and extended in length. His hands gripped the edge next to his knees, where his legs dangled over the side. It was built high enough that his feet didn't touch the ground. High enough that when Elrond finished gathering his materials and came to stand before him, all Legolas had to do was stare forward to look him in the eye.

Even knowing Elrond would perceive it as avoidance, Legolas therefore didn't stare forward at all. He looked down and up and to the side. He just didn't look _forward_. Elrond's eyes were scrutinizing. Legolas was not so seriously injured in his own view that he really needed this, and he was not, in recent years, so used to being scrutinized to be comfortable with the questions that would inevitably follow.

The questions. The disapproval. The concerned and exasperated glances in his direction.

He'd known once he arrived that none of it would be in his control. He was a warrior and a scout. He had proven with his life's actions that he was capable of many things, yet _here_ all was taken out of his hands. There was a comfort in it, but confusion as well. And he couldn't help wondering what danger the council of Eldar saw in him that he required such careful watching.

"You look troubled," commented Elrond.

"I am well enough," Legolas denied, holding his gaze firmly on the ground.

"Yes, well, we have already concluded that our definitions of that concept differ. I was not, however, referring to your physical state. Something else worries you."

Legolas wasn't certain what he should say. Formality and pretense had already been brushed aside. Elrond expected an honest answer and would accept nothing less. He fixed his eyes on the ornate arch of the window and spoke, "I have brought evil here."

"You are not responsible for the orcs presence. Or their actions."

"Perhaps not, but the Lady Galadriel has seen evil concerning me. If this is my battle, I would not wish others to be burdened with it."

"Legolas," Elrond's voice sharpened. "The evil Galadriel saw was not evil in you. This is not a battle you fight alone. If that were to be, Gandalf would not have brought you here."

Legolas swallowed a sigh of frustration.

Elrond set a hand on his elbow. "Furthermore, you are not a burden here," he continued. "I had hoped we had long since made that clear. What _does_ burden me is your continued effort to keep your battles to yourself, even after agreeing you would call for aid if needed."

The young elf winced at the elder's tone. He had no defense that Elrond would accept. He remembered his agreements before leaving Imladris, but as had already been pointed out, their definitions differed on the concept of 'well' and most likely on the 'point' when aid was needed. "I had not yet felt calling upon you was necessary," he finally offered, knowing the comment could potentially spark another lecture.

He was greeted by silence. Risking a glance at Elrond's face, he caught only the last threads of a grim expression—concerned and sad. Or perhaps… _resigned_?

Elrond reached towards him, catching his chin and tilting it upwards. Legolas thought Elrond was forcing eye contact. A second later he realized his chin was being shifted out of the way. Without another word Elrond reached for the clasps of his green tunic, undoing them with careful precision.

Legolas lifted his hands to take over the task but his wrists were caught and moved back to his sides where he resumed his grip next to his bent knees. "Leave this to me, elfling," Elrond's voice commanded, softening the order with a gentle tone.

* * *

"_I had not yet felt calling upon you was necessary."_

The words silenced Elrond like no others could have. At what point would the young elf finally call for help and accept it? There had been many reasons he'd not wanted Legolas to return to Mirkwood after his last stay in Imladris and that was one of them.

Mirkwood had needed their prince. He'd recognized that, but it hadn't stopped his worry.

_"Legolas, be careful."_

_The young elf rolled his eyes in exasperation, amusement playing at his lips._

_"I'm not joking, elfling. I can still speak to the council—convince them to keep you in Imladris for the next thousand years."_

_The young elf's amusement only increased. "I will be careful," he answered dutifully._

_"And do not wander without informing of your destination."_

_"Gandalf has already forced me to agree to this. I confess I do not understand him. He continually speaks of seeking adventures, encouraging creatures of all races in this regard, yet forbids an elf to stray from his own realm."_

_"Legolas," Elrond's voice was deep with warning._

_"Very well. I'll not wander without informing of my destination."_

_"And you will send word if you require aid! Remember, Little Leaf, you are returning to a Kingdom not like Imladris."_

_"I remember Mirkwood well, My Lord. The challenges there are not foreign to me, and not easily forgotten."_

_Elrond grunted, accepting that as truth, but insisted, "You will inform me if you require aid."_

_"Yes," again the dutiful reply, "I will inform you if Mirkwood requires aid."_

_"Not just Mirkwood, elfling, you."_

_Legolas smiled again, the infuriating, mischievous smile that seemed sometimes out of place on his stoic face. "I promise to inform you if I consider myself unwell."_

_Elrond clasped the wood elf briefly, gripping his shoulders before allowing him to mount his horse for departure._

_"It is your definition of unwell that concerns me," he muttered, as Legolas rode away, not overheard, even by elven hearing._

Legolas glanced cautiously towards him, breaking Elrond from his memories. In Legolas's look Elrond saw the weariness that had been building during his years absent. Sorrow colored the depths of the young elf's eyes, and an unnatural paleness shadowed his sharp features. He suddenly looked not just worn, but beaten, as though finally finding reprieve from the burden he carried was causing all his remaining strength to slip away from him.

Resigned to the idea that his other concerns would likely prove valid, Elrond reached forward, tilting Legolas's chin, giving easier access to the clasps on the dark green tunic. Expectedly, Legolas attempted to achieve the task for himself, hands stubbornly—reflexively—reaching up. Elrond caught one wrist, then the other, moving them away. He did not know how long he would keep the young elf in his custody but while he was here, in Imladris, he would learn to accept a little aid.

"Leave this to me, elfling," he admonished.

There was no more interference as he eased off the green material and began working on the white ties underneath. Legolas tensed but shifted obediently when he touched the hem and eased it over his head, adding the white shirt to the green tunic on the adjacent shelf.

What he saw confirmed his remaining fears. Small scrapes, matching the ones barely visible on the blonde's forehead, covered the length of his right arm. Dark, bold bruises overlapped more subtle colors, shadowing his ribs and stretching down across his torso. Two deep cuts, now nearly healed, crisscrossed over his right hip.

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, and sighed. When he opened them again, he set his mind to task. With one hand on Legolas's shoulder, and another lightly gripping the side of his neck he resolutely shifted the young elf forward and to the side, allowing a view of his uncovered back. The bruises there were fewer but still apparent and another set of crisscrossed cuts graced the area above his left shoulder blade.

Taking a careful breath, he warred with a sense of anger and powerlessness. Tenderly he gripped the sides of Legolas's neck, forcing eye contact where he'd before been willing to allow Legolas his reticence. Swallowing his frustration he spoke carefully, "Legolas, this should not have happened."

Blue eyes flashed upward, brief intense emotion skimming their surface.

In a flash, Elrond saw the grief.

"I am sorry," said Legolas, the sorrow cutting through the undertone of the simple words.

Letting his hands tighten consolingly, he shifted their grip to the tense knots in Legolas's shoulders. "It was not your fault," he sighed.

The young elf tried again, now meeting his gaze voluntarily. "I'm sorry that I did not—" Legolas broke off, unable to finish.

"I would have helped you."

"I wanted to tell you, but I thought I could help—" Legolas cut himself off again. His eyes flashed in panic towards the door and he tried to pull out of the Elrond's grip, reacting instinctively.

It took Elrond only a second to figure out what had startled him and he countered the sudden struggle calmly. Tightening his grip on the elf, his voice deepened, sliding into a more ancient form of elvish, letting his power surface with the words. Within seconds Legolas shifted into sleep.

Elrond caught him carefully as he slumped, easing him down onto the divan while still supporting his head. It would be easier to treat him this way anyway.

"I didn't mean to startle him," said Aragorn from the doorway. "Elladan told me he was injured or ill. I thought I might be of assistance."

Elrond looked to him, fondness in his eyes. "It was not your fault," he told him. "Your help is welcome."

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir rode ten strides apart. They'd returned to where the tracks had seemingly disappeared and had determined that the company of orcs had not only included the five killed in the stable. At least three times that number had tramped through the rim of Imladris wood.

As they'd noted before, some of the tracks came south from Moria, the others from Mirkwood. Closer examination showed a number of orcs returning the same way. They chose to track the orcs towards Mirkwood first and followed until the all signs of them had simply disappeared, which was odd in and of itself, but during this second scout Elrohir discovered the remainder of a broken shield stuck in the bark at the base of a tree.

"Elladan," he called.

Elladan stopped and rode closer. "Strange," he agreed. "Did the orcs in the stable carry shields?"

"None that I could see," responded Elrohir. "I believe I would have remembered those markings." On the upper crest of the shield was a white mark that slid down the front of it in a crescent shape, overlapped by black smeared back the other way. Marks crisscrossed with purpose. Elladan braced his foot against the tree's large root and pulled the shield free. He looked at it more closely to see if it had any other identifying marks. Finding none, he handed it to Elrohir and looked around to see if he could see where the tracks might branch from there.

Nothing.

It was as if the orcs had simply disappeared. "Where could they have gone?" Elladan muttered.

Elrohir puzzled the question and with a sinking feeling thought he might have found the answer. He caught Elladan's eye and looked up.

His brother gave him a doubtful expression.

"It is the only answer," Elrohir insisted. "If I were tracking an elf—that is where I would look."

"Orcs have never been known as great climbers, Elrohir, despite the mock of their heritage."

"No, but the creatures spreading from Mordor are said to be different—changed, bred with purpose. Goblins climb well enough, as do other creatures crossed quite easily with orcs."

"It would make sense," Elladan agreed hesitantly, clearly not wanting to be convinced.

Elrohir empathized. The trees were the refuge of elves. He felt violated by the thought that such vile creatures might have used them to effect such evil. "If only we could ask the trees where they'd gone," he muttered.

"I know an elf who may be able to," said Elladan, meaningfully.

Elrohir sighed, but nodded. "We will have to wait to see if Ada would allow him to come here. We do not want to place him in further danger."

"Agreed. He has seen enough danger in these woods."

Elrohir turned the shield over in his hands, then carried it to his saddlebag. "If Ada agrees, let us hope Legolas can help us solve this mystery quickly. I don't like questions we can't answer." He pulled the flap of his saddlebag closed, then walked back to where his brother was peering up into the tree. "We should bring Aragorn as well. I would feel better if we were all of us together."

"Also agreed," nodded Elladan, before pausing to lower his head and tilt his chin.

"What?"

"You called him Aragorn."

Blinking, then smiling sadly, Elrohir nodded. "I suppose I did."

Shaking himself, Elladan bent to run his palm along the gouge in the tree where the shield had been. After a moment, he straightened, stopping to scan the area one final time. As he did, Elrohir felt a prickling at the top of his ears. The world around them seemed abruptly and distinctly devoid of the comforting sounds a forest should make.

"All of us together would be better," continued Elladan softly, "because I suddenly have the distinct feeling that we are being watched."

* * *

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

After Gandalf left the courtyard he took to the library, sitting heavily in a soft chair, perusing ancient accounts of orc attacks on Imladris while waiting for news on Legolas. There wasn't much, but he read through and familiarized himself with everything he could. He felt some sense of familiarity with what was occurring. Like a story he had heard before and forgotten.

He was not convinced that assassination had been the objective of the orcs in the stable. But what more could they have been seeking?

Information?

Sentries paving way for a greater battle?

And beyond Legolas, there was Aragorn.

He too might have been the focus of the attack, excepting that Aragorn's true identity was well protected without these walls. Though many powers in Middle Earth viewed the remaining rangers as a plague, they would not expend so many resources to single out just one of them. On this topic, he'd yet to actually converse with Aragorn since his return to Rivendell, and he ought to seek time for it. Their conversations nearly always proved useful. The wizard counted heavily on the young ranger's reports, using them to track the growing power of Mordor.

Whether this current danger related directly or indirectly to that evil he could not tell. And Mirkwood being tangled in the center of these happenings... what would set its eye on a kingdom already entrenched in the battling dark?

"It attacks both within and without," Legolas had said.

From without? The answer to that was obvious. Giant spiders, poisoned plants, and all manner of other predators encroached on their wood, leaving it known as The Forest of Great Fear to the inhabitants surrounding it.

From within? Some of what Legolas referred to could be guessed at, but not all. Gandalf hoped Elrond could encourage him to be forthcoming.

Gandalf shook his head in frustration, tapping his pipe on the table top in front of him. He closed yet another book. Answers would not be found in Rivendell and his sense of urgency was growing. He would return to Mirkwood as soon as possible. In his heart he believed Thranduil held the missing pieces they sought, whether the king knew it or not. And he needed aid. Aid Gandalf had pledged to render.

"Mithrandir. Have you found anything?" Elrond stepped through the doorway as Gandalf turned his gaze. Elrond had a way of looking serene even when worried or agitated. As a wizard, Gandalf knew he should envy no power, but Elrond's calm demeanor at that moment seemed worth coveting.

"No," he answered. "I'm afraid our answers will not be found in the scrolls or books of these halls. How fares Legolas?"

"Stubborn," stated Elrond with startling sincerity.

"Yes, of course," Gandalf replied, smiling softly. "And?"

Elrond clasped his hands behind his back, looking noble as he gazed out the window, his powerful calm slipping slightly from his demeanor.

"It is as we suspected," concluded the wizard.

"It is," confirmed Elrond. "I had not thought it possible."

"Grief makes many things possible. For your kind it is both strength and weakness."

Looking contemplative, Elrond nodded. "Indeed." He took a breath and continued, "There is more. He had gashes—four of them—two above his hip, and two on his shoulder, crossing over each other. Deliberate, like a symbol or a crest. They were deep at one time, but are healing slowly. It only adds to the mystery, I'm afraid."

"More questions when we need answers," agreed Gandalf, concern creasing his brow. "What says Legolas?"

"He is sleeping."

"Of course," conceded the wizard, noting the firmness in Elrond's eyes.

Elrond turned from the window, away from the descending twilight. "What will you do now?"

"I must return to Mirkwood as soon as possible."

"You mean to leave this evening?"

"The situation has become such that I do not feel I can stay."

"Will Thranduil receive you?"

"He always has before."

"True. But it is different now. Gandalf, how do you expect to fight an evil when you do not yet know the source?"

"I do not expect to be able to, but by going there that source might reveal itself. Perhaps then we can prevent what greater evil lurks in wait for our young prince. I will leave as soon as I've had the chance to speak with your sons. They should return from their scout shortly. Can I assume young Aragorn is still with Legolas?"

"Yes."

"Good. I would like to speak with him as well. I'll go prepare my horse now." He paused, then added, "Word should be sent to the Galadhrim. Though doubtful, we should know if they've seen evidence of these orcs in their wood."

"I will speak with Galadriel and Celeborn," said Elrond.

Gandalf paused once more, waiting. It seemed to him there was more Elrond was wanting to say.

He didn't have to wait long.

"And Legolas?" questioned Elrond. "What will you tell Thranduil of his son?"

Gandalf's expression softened. "I will tell him he is being well cared for."

Elrond nodded, gazing out the window once more, the surreal calm of sunset shrouding his concern.

The wizard finally turned to exit, turning his thoughts towards the stables.

"Gandalf," Elrond's halting voice made his name sound both musical and serious. "I will not allow Legolas to return to Mirkwood until I am certain this evil has been resolved."

"I quite agree with you, old friend," the wizard replied. "I quite agree with you."

* * *

_The scent of men closing in behind him pushed Legolas into panic. An unusual emotion. Elves were not easily given to panic, or fear. Their culture and way of being dictated respect for living and fear of nothing, except, perchance, the domination of evil. _

_It was that fear that now took him._

_Run! His mind screamed at him. If he could just make it to the woods he could find refuge with the trees. Men could climb, he knew, but these woods would give him sanctuary. These woods would help him hide where men could not follow so easily behind._

_Before he knew it, he was reaching his aching body out to branches of trees suddenly low enough to grab without unnecessary strain. The scent of men followed him and he moved higher. Angry voices called after him. Shouts and curses. In moments they would cut down his tree if he did not keep moving. _

_Keep moving! _

_He repeated the phrase over and over until he found himself leaping to the branches of a tree adjacent, and then the one after that._ _The scent and the voices followed. The men were still behind him, still tracking him, but he had found refuge in the trees. Now all he had to do was make it to the river. Rivendell. Imladris. He would be safe there. He would be received. No man, nor dwarf, nor elf would there do him harm and no other creature would even dare pass the gates._

_Go! He commanded himself._

_Go! He could almost see the river up ahead. _

_With a deep breath he eased himself down to the ground, pausing on a lower branch to check his surroundings. He was exhausted but so close. _

_The sounds of the river engulfed him, as though the magic of the beings beyond it already stretched out to him, trying to draw him into the safety they offered._ _Falling into the illusion, he didn't realize his senses had failed him until he heard the whistle of air being sliced and saw the axe flying towards him. A second later he was falling, the ground rushing up beneath him._

_As he fell, he caught, again on the air, the scent of men._

Legolas jolted awake gasping for air. His hands shot out in a despairingly urgent grab at nothing. His mind fought for information, taking in his surroundings with lighting speed.

He was rewarded by the peaceful sight of the simplistically ornate carvings and large arching windows that gave view of several sweet-misted waterfalls.

Imladris.

He was in Imladris.

His body relaxed. He was in the healing wing. He had come from his own realm and arrived just that morning. He had not come pursued by men as he had years ago.

Elrond must have caused this sleep, he concluded. Legolas could tell his body had been treated. Altogether, it felt less painful. The ache of bruises less pressing, the slowly healing cuts he'd sustained now tingled with something soothing, and he'd not yet been subjected to too many questions he could not appropriately answer.

At some point, he would have to. As safe as he felt, now awake and free from haunting too-old memories, he knew in many ways he was still living in an illusion. The Imladris around him was real enough, but so far removed from his Mirkwood that it would be a mistake to allow himself to fall so easily into the sanctuary it offered. Experience had taught him that even that which seemed sacred and immune to evil could fall into distress.

Before long he'd have to face reality. No matter what he'd been told, there was a battle out there that was his to fight. He would not avoid it.

For the moment, however, he was safe. For the moment, he could allow the peace...

For the moment.

He relaxed his muscles.

His next deep breath was meant to ease the remaining tension from his being. Instead, in a heated rush, all his panic returned.

* * *

Elrohir and Elladan moved carefully until they stood back to back, then cast their gazes upwards, looking for threats that shouldn't come from trees.

They saw nothing, but the feeling of eerily present danger pricked at them relentlessly.

Slowly, in low tones, Elladan whispered for their horses to approach. Both beasts were hesitant, as if they thought being ten feet from the elves would be enough to keep them from the lurking evils breathing their same air. Urgently, Elladan called to them again. Pawing the ground, the animals approached. The brothers also moved in their direction. Stepping precisely and consecutively, as though practicing a well choreographed dance.

"Elladan, do you see?" asked Elrohir softly. They were almost to the horses.

Desperately, Elladan scanned the area again. He saw nothing. "No," he answered. He was suddenly unsure of why they were whispering. If they'd been spotted, their whispering was hardly helpful, or necessary. Just the same, he continued to do it. "What do you see?" he asked his brother.

"Just one," answered Elrohir, "at the very top of the tree to my right."

Elladan slid his hands around his horse's neck, calming the beast with his gentle touch. He felt Elrohir step away from his back, and assumed his brother to be doing the same. He twisted his neck, catching sight of him as he scanned the treetops. He followed Elrohir's gaze and there he saw it - a grossly hunched figure in the top of the trees, snitty dark eyes tracking their every move. In a swift, quiet motion he mounted his horse, never once losing track of the dark creature's eyes.

Elrohir drew his mount closer to Elladan, until they were knee to knee. "I only see the one," he stated, puzzled. Elrohir had drawn his bow, ready to fling a volley.

Elladan gripped his own sword tightly.

One orc.

Only one.

It was unnatural. One orc should not fill the air with this tension. One orc should not create the nervousness they felt brushing the back of their necks. One orc should not be perched up a tree like a bird, or squirrel, or _elf_.

"Elladan, we should go."

"Yes," he agreed, "but we should not leave it alive. Where one is, others must be near."

Elrohir notched his arrow. Elladan held eye contact with the orc.

Just as his brother let the arrow fly the creature ducked into the tree and disappeared. And Elladan could've sworn… it was smiling at him.

"It's gone," said Elrohir. "Should we try to follow?"

Elladan wanted to say yes, but the thrum of danger still crackled through the air. All was not as it appeared. The safer, smarter course would be to leave, and leave quickly. Catching Elrohir's eye, they nodded in agreement, easing around until they were facing the direction of the river, the direction of home. They started off, keeping their pace careful, watching the trees on either side.

The creature, no doubt, would be following them.

* * *

Aragorn leaned forward to rest his arms, un-elven like, on the balcony banister in front of him. If his brothers saw him they would comment on how being in the wild with the rangers was affecting his demeanor. They would tell him he no longer stood quite so much like an elf, nor spoke like one, nor ate like one.

With the Rangers of the North, it was quite a different story. To them everything he did was elven—every gesture, every phrase. Rangers were no strangers to elves, the blood running through them being what it was, but Aragorn's close association and experience with the higher race had made him foremost among those he should consider his peers, even those who did not know he was a king.

_King_, he scoffed. The title sounded hollow in his own ears. He didn't know what he was, elf or man, but he was no _king_. Even so, the way the other rangers sometimes looked at him… it made him feel as though they were seeing something more—something exclusionary, something exceptional. Something that told them he was different. He could tell at times that his elven manner both fascinated and frightened them, as though to them he _was _more than man.

It had only furthered the torn feelings he couldn't escape—being a stranger in every land he wandered.

He shifted one hand to briefly rub his chin while he continued taking in the view. He could see, through the arched windows across the way, his father and Gandalf speaking. He wondered of the topic, though a fair guess would include Legolas.

For all his prying he had learned little more of the wood elf or his injuries.

He cast a glance over his shoulder to where the elf still slept, scrutinizing the figure momentarily. Altogether the wounds had not seemed particularly serious. The worry, as Aragorn saw it, was in the slowness of their healing—elves typically being quick healers—the oddness of the cuts, and the story the injuries alluded to. Whatever had happened, had happened repeatedly.

He'd questioned Elrond cautiously, but boldly, to little response.

_"Ada, I have never seen wounds like this remain on an elf more than a day," he said while skillfully cleaning the small abrasions across the elf's arm._

_Elrond looked at him, passing him a thin bandage. His eyes shadowed as he replied, "There are many things that can slow the healing of an elf."_

_"Was he poisoned?" asked Aragorn, knowing of several poisons that could affect elves and men in that manner._

_Elrond hadn't answered except to say, "Perhaps."_

_"What happened to him?" Aragorn persisted._

_"I'm not certain."_

_"But you suspect. You do not seem surprised by his condition."_

_"Gandalf suspected he was injured and told me of his suspicions." It was a deflection. Elrond was straightforward in the worst of times, to find him deflecting pushed at something in Aragorn's soul._

_"I do not understand," he admitted while cautiously helping ease Legolas onto his side._

_Finally, Elrond boldly met his eyes. "I am sorry, Estel. I do not mean to keep my suspicions a mystery, but I will allow Legolas his secrets… for now. For the moment all I am certain of is that he is in need of rest and reprieve from what he has faced, as are you. Hopefully both of you will have the chance to find that here."_

Thinking about it, Aragorn realized that Elrond was right. His recent journeys weighed on him. Things had been… _happening_ in Middle Earth. He had grown weary. He'd begun to feel… hunted. He felt a pull towards Gondor, and the white city. A fleeting, emotive impression that slowly convinced him to change his path, prompting a course towards _home_. Imladris, if he could still call Imladris home.

It was where he turned for answers and where he looked for hope.

He'd come home to find something quite different.

In that moment, watching the twilight settle, he felt more of the ease he'd been seeking, but he feared it wouldn't last. Light danced in gold streaks through the mist of the falls. It reached out to him and into him, easing the tenseness in his heart. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

Behind him, Legolas let out a sound, splitting Aragorn's temporary calm with a note of distress. He turned from the balcony to watch him. This time he saw him twitch, another small sound catching somewhere deep in the elf's throat. Cautiously, Aragorn stepped through the archway, stepping gently towards the divan where the elf slept.

The figure gasped and bolted upright.

"Be at peace," gentled Aragorn with more calm than he felt as he watched the wood elf return from Elrond's induced slumber. He wasn't certain of what he should do. His father had told him to give the elf space upon waking—that he would be disoriented. The ranger had expected the confussion, but he'd not expected the elf to awake so violently.

Even as those thoughts swirled in his head he watched Legolas relax into his surroundings, his face registering the presence of new bandages and familiar sounds.

Aragorn took a careful step forward, ready to explain the instructions and limitations set for the elf by Elrond. As he stepped, something in the elven face changed, violence swiftly returning to the water blue eyes.

Aragorn eased up his hands and stepped back again, then tensed as Legolas slid into a careful crouch.

* * *

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **(In which we venture into more au-ish territory) As a reminder, we're playing loose and fast between book and movie verse, slightly au-ish to both.**  
**

* * *

As Elladan watched their surroundings, Elrohir watched his brother. A habit developed between them long ago over years of traversing dangerous surroundings together. Their power in these situations came from centuries upon centuries spent as brothers instead of individuals. One twitch from Elladan and Elrohir would know where the threat was coming from and what action he should take.

He was unconcerned about the sureness of their footing, or their pathway home—the horses knew it, and were more than anxious to follow it quickly.

All else in the forest hailed silence.

The wind ceased to whisper. Birds ceased to speak. In all, the whole atmosphere seemed to darken.

For a moment Elrohir began to wonder if by some magic they'd been transported to Mirkwood. He'd always been saddened by the gradual fall of Legolas's home, but he'd never felt the pain of that fall as keenly as he did right then.

Then it happened.

His brother twitched.

* * *

The evening sky had grown dark overhead. Gandalf stared at it while making his way back to the stables.

Not even the stars or moon were visible.

The threat of rain hung in the air. Air that had turned heavy and stale. Heavy with the coming storm, but stale and stagnant with a curious lack of life—dead, yet humming with energy none the less.

It was unsettling, thought Gandalf with a twitch of his nose. He was accustomed to the sweet air Imladris held within its boundaries, different, it seemed, from all the rest of Middle Earth. Typically, he enjoyed the quiet feel of it gently whispering through his hair, the scent full of waterfalls and flowers—life. All of that now eerily absent.

_Unsettling indeed._

Upon reflection, he realized it was not an unfamiliar feeling that hung in the air—elusive yes, but achingly familiar.

As he neared the stables, catching a glimpse of his horse's discontented form, he finally recognized where he'd felt it before, and the emotion that struck him was as poignant as an unexpected encounter with an old friend—_or enemy_.

This was what _Mirkwood_ had felt like. Long ago. So long ago. Before it had been Mirkwood.

This strange feeling—energetic dead air. Heavy air. It had appeared just before the darkness followed. Before the shadow truly fell. Before the spiders and other creatures of the dark. Before the crushing lack of light. It had been the beginning of their battle. The beginning of their war.

Gandalf paused. _Would it happen so soon? Here?  
_

That Sauron was gaining power was no secret, but Gandalf had been hopeful that years—decades—would remain before his power could push Middle Earth to all out war. And in that eventuality, he had been certain the kingdoms of the elves would remain as the strongholds of that battle. Though the Noldor so strongly felt the pull to go into the west, he had been certain Imladris would hold, standing in light.

Turning himself in a circle, Gandalf reached out to the air, gripping it, hoping it was his imagination that gave birth to such despairing thoughts. As he circled he caught sight of a rider—an elven rider—swiftly approaching the Imladris gates, moving so fast that his blond hair flew straight out behind him, his cloak flapping furiously in the windless air.

Within moments the rider was close enough for recognition to dawn on Gandalf's face.

Haldir. Come from Lórien.

* * *

Aragorn stepped back, placing himself defensively near the wall, watching warily. He'd seen Legolas fight. Even injured, if the elf chose to attack, he would be a formidable opponent.

In retrospect, Aragorn wondered if he was the best choice to keep charge of the elf. If his mere arrival had startled Legolas while his injuries were being tended to in the safest stronghold of Imladris—waking from an induced slumber with those startled moments as his last coherent memories to find a man hovering over his shoulder could not bode well for either of them.

Muscles tensing, Legolas crouched, seeming to ready for battle, but there was an expression on his face that confused Aragorn. It was as though he were searching for something.

_For the thing that had startled him?_

Taking a calming breath, Aragorn held his hands further up and away from his sides—as non threatening as possible. "Legolas?" he said carefully, stepping consciously closer.

The elf tilted his head, but his eyes continued with the same searching look, flashing darkly as they scanned the atmosphere.

"I mean you no harm, Legolas."

The look on the elf's face did not change.

"You are in the House of Elrond. You are safe here."

"It has come for me," the elf finally spoke, eyes darkening further. His voice was low and he was gazing distantly towards the sky, seemingly speaking to the room at large rather than Aragorn alone.

"You are safe here," repeated Aragorn, stepping further out from the wall, but the words felt abruptly unconvincing and he felt his spine tighten. "You are safe here," he tried to repeat. With a flashing glance towards the thickening atmosphere without the windows, conviction left him.

"It is the _air_," said Legolas next, cocking his head to the other side, listening to or sensing something that Aragorn could not reach. "It is _in_ the air." The words rolled on a whisper.

Unexpectedly, Aragorn felt sweat on his collar—cold and damp. The next breath he pulled was so heavy and thick he wondered if in a moment he would still be able to breathe at all. His lungs tortured him as he held the air, creating a burning weight in his chest until he was finally forced to expel it. Stumbling towards Legolas, he breathed in again, deliberately, palming his hands on the edge of the settee for balance when he couldn't get the air to enter his lungs. He glanced to the windows to assure himself they had not magically locked closed.

"Do you feel it?" Legolas was finally looking at him, the vacancy in his searching expression vanished. His eyes were full of clarity, his crouch lessened in its defensiveness. He seemed to be having no trouble drawing the air into his lungs to speak, even if his expression seemed pained.

"What is it?" asked Aragorn, gasping.

"We've never known," said Legolas. "It is a feeling from long ago. Not unlike... not unlike the language of Mordor." The Mirkwood elf winced, closing his eyes a long moment. Then, with deliberate movements, he stepped off the divan to stand next to Aragorn. His actions were a careful reminder of his remaining injuries, or of how this thing was affecting him—Aragorn wasn't sure which—but once upright, tentatively, he placed a hand on the ranger's shoulder.

Instantly, Aragorn felt his breathing ease, though the feeling of heavy air remained, his lungs filled, shedding the burn, the surge of blood to his head singing with relief. He looked at the elf in wonder, wanting to ask what power he drew from to combat this thing that had besieged them, wanting to thank him for easing the ache, but the elf's focus was out the window again, searching for something in the sky. Or perhaps beyond that—something only an elf's eyes might see. Something approaching from the distance, dropping from the dark clouds, or skittering across the tops of the dense distant trees.

Together they moved to the balcony.

The peaceful Imladris Aragorn had looked over only minutes before was now heavily overcast with a threatening storm—dark in a way Aragorn could not remember seeing it ever before.

* * *

Elrond too had seen Haldir's approach.

He'd been watching the gates from an upper hall, hoping for the return of his sons, when the turn in the atmosphere had seized him and the rider in the distance appeared. _What news from Lórien?_ he thought, staring at the gathering darkness, feeling an urgency under his skin.

This could not be coincidence.

As he bolted gracefully down the steps to meet his latest guest he took inventory of the location and safety of those in his immediate charge. A glance up towards the windows of the healing room revealed Legolas and Estel, alert and unharmed.

The sight of them standing together struck him vividly and gave him pause. His Dúnadan son looked down at him boldly, the Mirkwood Prince half a pace behind him with a hand on the ranger's shoulder. But it wasn't a ranger that Elrond was looking at—it was a king.

Lightening flashed, setting both man and elf in a momentary crown of light. Bright and strong. Standing together in the oppressive dark.

Elrond felt a foreshadowing quiver wash through him. The image before him a harbinger for a future both good and ill.

With effort, he tore his gaze from the two, forcing his focus back on more immediate events.

"Haldir. Welcome." He barely stopped to make the appropriate gesture, gripping the mount's bridle while nodding to the approaching Gandalf as the elf dismounted.

"Well met," greeted Haldir, shouting over a sudden loud roll of thunder and returning Elrond's gesture in as quick a fashion as he had given it. "I carry news from Lothlórien," he said, shouting again over the competition from the ominous sky.

Elrond nodded.

Not wanting to compete with the atmosphere, he tipped his head in the direction of his halls while a young elf darted towards them, taking the reigns of Haldir's unsettled horse and leading it to the stables amidst another crash of thunder and hurried nods of thanks.

Elrond led them back towards the steps in silence, believing there was nothing so important that it couldn't wait until they were positioned in more silent surroundings. But Haldir apparently had one thing to say that could not wait. He put a hand on Elrond's shoulder. Keeping them moving, Elrond nevertheless leaned near, bending his head to hear Haldir's question, noticing Gandalf doing the same.

"What news of Legolas?" questioned the new arrival.

"He has arrived to my charge," Elrond answered, speaking just as loud. Elrond gestured up to the windows where Legolas had been standing with his son just moments ago. The powerful vision he'd seen of the two was no longer there. Estel now stood in profile to them, looking wilted, struggling to hold onto Legolas who appeared to have fallen unconscious.

With grim determination the three on the stairs tripled their pace.

* * *

tbc

* * *

_"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Elladan felt the attack before actually seeing the attackers.

Instinct reigned.

Drawing his bow, he fired into the trees, Elrohir's arrow soaring right next to his own. Their actions provoked a painful grunt and a fiendish cry that echod back from the treetops—they'd struck their target.

Something fell from the trees. They could see from where it lay that it was indeed an orc. Elladan let his gaze linger on the fallen creature, attempting to determine any perceivable difference between this tree-climbing orc and those he knew from past experience. There was nothing readily unique about it, he concluded. It was, perhaps, slimmer than most. Its eyes were darker, skin lighter, _perhaps_—but the gathering dark made it difficult to conclude anything for certain, even with elven eyes.

"_Elladan_."

Elrohir's sharp whisper brought Elladan back to attention. He tore his gaze from the felled orc. With a deep breath he once again allowed his instincts to rule even as the air's deadness folded in on them. His keen eyes pushed through it, searching the trees for more danger. Twice during his search his gaze met Elrohir's, their expressions communicating more than ever could have been said aloud.

They would not leave these woods without confronting battle, and they both knew it.

* * *

"Estel."

Aragorn looked up to see Elrond approaching, Gandalf not two steps behind. A third figure lingered in the doorway, but Aragorn was more concerned about the unconscious wood-elf dragging him to the ground than the identity of the stranger. "Ada!" he gasped in relief, whipping his head back around to look out the window when a large rumble of thunder covered his attempt at speech.

The lightning that followed was electric—simultaneously bright and dark—and much too close to be discounted. As it struck ground, Aragorn felt an ache pass through him. The same ache he'd felt while standing on the balcony, the shaky hand of a wood-elf pressing into his shoulder, foolishly or confidently looking into the gathering dark just moments before the same dark lightning had split the two tallest trees outside the balcony in half.

Even with Legolas's mysterious ability to ease his breath from whatever sought to crush it out, Aragorn had gasped and shuttered with the lightning. Though standing stoically, he'd felt the dark air swirl towards him, seizing him. It was as if some challenge had been delivered, taunting him. The air seemed to mock only him—seemed to be seeking only him—seemed to be urging him to hide from whatever evil hung there. _It has come for me, _he'd thought—fleetingly echoing Legolas's word upon waking.

_It has come for me!_

"Estel!"

Aragorn jerked his gaze from the sky to Elrond's searching and alarmingly concerned gaze, then stared back around the oppressive room. There was no foe he could visibly battle. Nevertheless, his hand found the hilt of his sword and grasped it tightly. "What is happening?" he shouted, his other hand gripping the unconscious Legolas, holding him in place where he had fallen, pressed haphazardly across his knees.

Elrond knelt opposite, scanning the elf between them and settling a hand on the pale forehead. "We must move him," Elrond told him.

_To where?_ Aragorn wondered but said nothing. If Elrond had answers, he would tell him. In the meantime the return of Elrond's precise and calm demeanor pushed Aragorn to focus on action. _"Panic is the weakness of man,"_ Elrond had once told him, _"Your strength lies in choosing to not give into it." _With one last glace at the sky's continued rumblings he prepared to help move the elf, shifting his knees. As he did, the mysterious figure in the doorway stepped forward while Gandalf stepped back.

Haldir.

Aragorn was able to recognize him though they'd only met once. He was of the Lórien guard—Captain of the Lórien guard. Aragorn nodded briefly, but had no time to contemplate Haldir's presence further. Elrond had slipped one arm underneath Legolas's legs, the other underneath his shoulders. Aragorn did the same from the opposite side. As they lifted, Haldir reached forward to support Legolas's head.

The reaction was instantaneous. Legolas screamed.

* * *

The orcs remained invisible but their presence hummed vibrantly through air now crackling with darkness, beneath a sky rumbling loud and angry though Elrohir and Elladan could not see it through the trees.

They moved their mounts closer together, facing opposite directions, covering each others' backs as they moved in deliberate and precise circles.

The hum of the enemy slowed for a moment.

The tips of Elladan's ears itched and stiffened.

Abruptly something swung down at them, swift and shadow-like. They released their arrows then reared back on their horses just in time to dodge the the return volley. An orc following in the wake went straight for Elrohir. Elladan looked back to see him draw his sword, batting the creature from his shoulders successfully, sending it under the feet of his horse already dead.

The deflected attack was followed by another from the opposite direction… and then another… and soon Elladan found himself too preoccupied with his own attackers to see how many it would take to bring Elrohir to the ground.

* * *

The scream. The scream was an unnatural sound coming from an elf. Aragorn had not ever heard an elf scream like that. The strangeness of it consumed his mind until a riveting pain ripped through him, returning him to his knees, bringing Legolas back down with him—his lungs heaving for air that was once again being stolen away. Whatever breath he'd been able to hold in his lungs before vanished and the new air he attempted to draw was painful—too heavy to enter his lungs.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the sensation to pass.

It didn't.

In panic he opened his eyes. Lord Elrond was looking frantically between him and Legolas. Haldir had stepped back against the wall and was looking at his hand with shock on his face. Strangely, it was Gandalf who appeared most calm. Aragorn fixed his gaze upon the old wizard with a strange and desperate hope.

"Lord Elrond, the Imladris borders are breached a second time. There can be no other reason for this madness," said Gandalf.

To Aragorn, the wizard's voice seemed halfway swallowed by the dark. He focused more tightly on Gandalf's lips in order to pull significance from the hollow words and caught the meaningful look as it passed to his father.

_What was happening?_ The beat of his heart rushed painfully through his ears and he felt, rather than saw, the next bolt of lighting strike down. A phantom stab of pain pushing him further to the ground.

The hem of Gandalf's cloak brushed by him just as the hazy ring around his vision closed violently inward, turning everything to black.

* * *

Elrohir's hand tightened on his sword at the same moment that his knees tightened on his horse. Even then he was barely able to maintain his grip on either one. In the chaos, an orc mounted securely behind him and was wrapping itself around his neck. Holding his breath, Elrohir turned his sword backwards and thrust it under his own arm, impaling his attacker through the chest. Another twist of the sword sent the creature to the ground next to its weapon.

A brief moment of reprieve followed. Elrohir swept his eyes out but could see Elladan nowhere. The shrieks of their foes continued to fill the skies between the tall trees. Battle cries, all of them. The attackers would rejoin their efforts against him soon and he wouldn't last much longer. Not from his current position.

Not liking the only option presented to him, he took it anyway, retreating from the small clearing while ducking low to his horse's neck, trusting the beast to find the right rout to lead them from the battle.

"Elrohir!" The breathless voice belonged to his brother. As the horse slid behind the convenient thicket he released a breath of air in their temporary reprieve. Having achieved exit from the initial point of attack they gained precious moments to plan as the enemy was forced to regroup.

"They attack from a circle," stated Elrohir meeting his brother's smoky eyes.

Elladan nodded in agreement, "We will have to split again, stick to the outside of their focus."

"Draw them inwards, towards each other," Elrohir voiced while dropping half of his remaining arrows into Elladan's empty quiver. "We could easily fall into our own trap with that strategy."

"We had better pay attention then," Elladan answered seriously. Then with a twinkled gleam in his eyes, he added, "But if it works against us remember which one of us gets to be broken and which one of us mangled."

"I am beginning to understand why Gandalf does not appreciate your wit," Elrohir smiled back.

"Down!" Elladan pulled him forward with a hasty grab at his tunic. The arrow intended for his side buried itself instead in the thick leather of his own quiver. The hand gripping him shifted to tightly clutch his shoulder—a steady grip of reassurance—then just as quickly released him.

No more words were said. Elrohir gave a nod and then, as though lanced from a bow, he shot into the outskirts of the impending fray, tracking Elladan's minute sounds as he circled around the other way.

* * *

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Elladan twisted his body, simultaneously ducking to avoid the thick branches between the two arching trees in front of him. His horse rode swift and easy, now seemingly incognizant of the mounting darkness, lost in the fray of battle with a strong elf riding him.

Through the stuttering rush, Elladan tracked the sounds of his brother, reaching his elven hearing out for every sound in the forest he could identify. He listened for the the enemy, rearing his horse around when the creaks in the trees revealed them. Turning to the left yet again, he leapt into the nearest branch, leaving his steed to ride on without him. Instinctively, the elf felt his brother had reached the trees as well. He leapt a branch higher and peered through the darkness. He could sense more than see that the enemy was still focused on following their horses' crashing hooves. The reverberation of the cracking twigs giving them the distraction they required.

As he climbed, Elladan caught a brief flash of his brother across the clearing that divided them. The turn of smoky eyes and a concise nod told him Elrohir saw him as well and was ready before he disappeared altogether.

Drawing one of the arrows Elrohir had spared from his own quiver, Elladan prepared to fire. A bolt of lighting dashed dazzlingly bright over his head, the intensity almost painful to his eyes and the resulting explosion of thunder so loud he feared he might be shaken from his branch. As it was, he barely maintained his grip on Elrohir's arrow and his open hand hastily sought a more secure hold on the wood bracing him.

At that moment, all sense of balance became painfully absent—a strange ache swirled into his head. He closed his eyes as echoes of the shaking thunder vibrated to the tips of his ears. Gripping the tree more tightly he stilled himself in elven form and waited for the sound to end. The woeful roar grew dimmer and dimmer until all he heard were the lingering echoes of someone's far off scream.

* * *

Every motion and sound in and out of the room ceased as Legolas screamed. For an instant even the darkness that besieged them seemed to recoil at the sound, before surging back in delight.

Gandalf stepped forward from his observing position near the door, wanting to act but not act out of hand. He noted the definitive and succinct change rippling in the air in response to Legolas's cry. Quickly he followed the reactions of the room's inhabitants in turn, looking for clues to this power that seized them.

Haldir had moved himself back against the wall, his entire focus on the hand in front of his face. The fear from his gaze reminding Gandalf of the brief flashes of fear elves displayed when speaking hushedly of balrogs or other evils of the ancient deep—evils beyond an elf's nature to completely comprehend. Haldir was also holding his body stiffly, as if holding off an unseen pain.

Aragorn had returned to his knees, Legolas slipping from his grasp as they were again forced to the floor. He gasped and coughed in a failed attempt to draw air. Gandalf could tell the young ranger would not stay conscious through this fight. Unless they were able to act, and act soon, he would succumb to the darkness.

Lord Elrond himself looked pained—as though the very language of Mordor whispered in his ear. The stoicism in his stance was there, but barely maintained. The Elf Lord looked out the window with defiance and a thin veil of calm before casting stares of intense concern between Aragorn and Legolas.

On the ground between them, Legolas's eyes were closed, his brow furrowed. Blood was blooming across the wounds once hidden by his tunic. Gandalf felt a cold shiver along his spine. _No_, he thought, the coldness freezing him in place. They could not allow the evil to overtake them here. The stronghold of Rivendell had to remain theirs for sometime more. But as he watched, he had another thought. _The enemy betrays himself._

He set his mouth grimly as comprehension dawned.

The realizations came quickly then, and with them the Istari steeled his reserve—holding himself back from any foolish attempt to help his comrades. The only actions that mattered now were the actions that would free them from this misery.

Whatever evil breached the Imladris borders would not withstand the power of these elves. It could not. Not yet.

"Lord Elrond," he spoke boldly, bringing his staff around in front of himself as he moved towards the lanai window. "The enemy speaks." Catching the ruler's sharp eyes with his own, he continued, "The Imladris borders are breached a second time, there can be no other reason for this madness."

Elrond turned to respond, but his words were cut off by yet another strike of electricity—splitting a soaring tree outside the balcony archway in two. The creek and shudder that went through the air as it fell sent a violent ache through the Istari's soul, echoing the emotion created by Legolas's scream. He nearly bent with the pain. When he looked up again it was straight into Elrond's resolute and comprehending eyes.

This enemy would not linger here for long.

* * *

The tree Elrohir clung to trembled and swayed long after the curiously echoing elven cry dimmed—aching and creaking in its wake. In his own head, dizziness swam in black circles at the reaches of his vision. He had to wait for several moments before feeling entirely capable of moving again. Quietly he pulled deep breaths of air through his nose, pushing closer to the tree in the hope that he had remained concealed through the strange ordeal. He worried that his balance would not return before the enemy found him.

He could tell from the orc's suddenly less stealthy murmurs that they'd fallen into some confusion and that most of them were still seeking their prey by listening to the hard clomping gallop of their now riderless horses. His eyes immediately sought the location of his brother, relieved to find him secreted on a high thick branch nearly covered in leaves. He was difficult to see—the air between them hazed over with blackness plucked from nothing.

If sight was to be taken from them they would have to win this battle soon, before all hope was truly lost.

His mother's experience in the den of orcs sprang to his mind and his eyes flashed dark in response to the memory.

Calming himself, he focused, sweeping his eyes in an arc, their elven grace cutting through the black to seek out the positions of all the creatures he could locate. He would not lose his brother to his mother's fate, nor if he could help it—himself.

Finding his targets, Elrohir notched an arrow, letting it fly very close to Elladan. He hoped the orcs near himself hadn't heard his weapon's hiss, but didn't wait to find out. He silently swung across two branches, positioning himself quietly behind two crouching creatures, aimed, and an arrow sailing between their heads. This time he waited, watching as it struck an adjacent orc whose companions immediately sent spears into the two he crouched behind.

Gripping another branch he swiftly moved higher. The earlier dizziness he'd felt was now dissipating rapidly, for which Elrohir was grateful. The voices of the orcs behind and above him made it clear they were no longer following the decoy of still moving horses. They were tracking them, fulling engaged in the twisting battle he and Elladan were now spinning.

A pronged arrow flew by him, slicing into his shoulder as a reminder of how close this battle would be. He ignored the pain and kept going. He had to stay lost in the trees—he had to keep moving.

* * *

"_Haldir!_" Millennia of command rang in Elrond's distinctive voice from where he crouched gripping Aragorn and Legolas's prone bodies in opposite hands. Haldir's pained eyes met his and Elrond realized he was more horrified by the young elf's reaction to his touch than the mayhem rolling without. "Haldir, Aragorn cannot breathe."

Gandalf had moved behind them, standing between the fallen youths and the arching gloom at the window. His staff was raised and he was shouting the words of the Istari's power in a bold attempt to hold back the dark.

Elrond knew it would not be enough. He had to shout ever louder to be heard over the crashes of lighting and Gandalf's rising voice. "Haldir! You are an elf from the Golden Wood. He needs your help."

The Lórien Captain's lucid eyes met his. Finally, he gave a nod of assent. Elrond realized the clarity in his eyes had much more to do with the wood elf's allegiance to Imladris than trust in himself. Just the same, he crouched near Aragorn in imitation of Elrond's stance and closed his eyes, drawing dark air through his nose as his trembling fingers reached for the ranger's shoulder.

Elrond's stoicism gave way to none of his worry, but when the elf's elegant fingers touched his son's tunic he recognized his silent prayers were near panic. Aragorn was motionless, utterly silent and growing pale.

Haldir opened worried eyes, but anything he might have said was cut off by Aragorn's sudden gasp for air. He sucked in one breath, then another and another, though his eyes remained closed. Haldir looked only moderately relieved.

"Lord Elrond," Gandalf's voice commanded his attention. "There is no more you can do for them here—we are running out of time."

"Hold him," Elrond commanded. Haldir tightened his grip on the man's shoulder while both their gazes fell to Legolas. His head arched back and forth as if he was in pain but he continued to breathe. Elrond brushed the tips of his fingers along the young elf's forehead, eyes closing while his lips moved in silent command of ancient elvish, watching Legolas shudder and settle slightly.

He rose then, rushing from the room without a backwards glance. Gandalf was right, they had to move quickly. He ran down the empty hall and trotted briskly down the stairs, catching the bitter scent in the outside air. His kingly feet moved smoothly over the felled branches from their tallest trees. The electricity in the air pulled at his skin—the dark lighting striking down with increased intensity. Near the step's base a snapping outburst of sound forced him to quickly dodge yet another breaking tree.

When he finally reached the open pathways beyond the stair's base he saw those of his house gathering near the main passage to his halls—awaiting word from their lord. Undoubtedly wanting to know and understand what had seized their valley.

Beyond them, Elrond saw yet more of Rivendell's citizens, standing intrepidly within the arched coverings of their fair city's winding paths—gracefully and boldly sheltering from the crushing dim but visibly waiting to know what was needed of them—to know what Lord Elrond would have them do.

With a silent signal, both calm and commanding, those of his guard separated themselves from the others and joined him in his purposeful stride to the stables.

"My Lord?" One of his captains spoke, still having to shout over the rumblings from the sky.

Elrond said nothing, leading them unflinchingly to the stables.

"Search," he commanded when they entered, his level elven voice cutting straight through all other sound, using a pitchfork himself to sweep aside the straw at his feet. "Search for anything the orcs may have left behind."

Complying without question the elves began sweeping purposefully through every crack and corner.

* * *

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

The sons of Rivendell had a feel for the attack strategy now, the dizziness and the cry they'd heard almost entirely forgotten in the heat of their battle. Glimpses of the creatures winked at them through the trees as they scuttled about through the branches. The orcs were circling them, repeatedly attempting to focus the attack downward as if to maintain the high ground.

_It is time the orcs learned the foolishness of this strategy_, thought Elladan with an internal grin. The orcs thought they had an advantage by using the trees. Wood-elves he and Elrohir were not, but elves they still were. He swung low to dodge the next arrows, then leapt from his perch to the next nearest tree, pausing with his bow poised to send two arrows into the branches behind his brother.

Two more orcs hit the ground.

He climbed higher, continuing the conflict, sensing Elrohir mirroring him across the way, trusting Elrohir's movements through the dark. He could waste no thoughts on worries of failure. If need be, those feelings could come later.

They worked in opposite directions, using the battlement in the trees to their advantage, confusing the enemy, confident in their long developed sense that they would not accidentally pitch arrows at each other—warning each other when the others' senses became too occupied in one direction.

Even then, Elrohir's shout came a moment too late.

"Elladan, behind you!"

He heeded the call, spinning to locate his new threat.

A dark creature, blending near perfect into the background, was watching him with evil laughing eyes mere inches from his face. Elladan caught his breath in surprise. The creature hissed a vulgar laugh before sweeping a glowing blade through the heart of the branch he stood on.

Immediately Elladan began to drop.

His left hand reached out for the firmest hold he could find, latching onto the dark cloth swathing his foe. He pulled it and the creature with him, his right hand maintaining a death grip on the knife he'd dragged out of his belt in response to Elrohir's shout.

Branches and leaves broke as they crashed through them, sailing with them towards the ground. The creature's sharp nails dug into his neck and shoulder, trying to force his release but Elladan's grip stayed firm. The knife he held waved dangerously between them in the air. He tried to push it out to his side, where he wouldn't stab himself on impact, but could stay ready for defense. He considered letting go of it, but if they survived the fall, it would be his only weapon.

Pain exploded everywhere when he finally hit ground, compounding when the creature he clutched crashed on top of him. The world spun. After a moment, all went dark.

* * *

As Haldir gripped Aragorn's shoulder, chaos reigned in the background. Even so, his ears registered nothing but the sound of the ranger's labored breathing and the internal echoes from his kinsman's scream. Even the trees seemed to echo Legolas's cry—their unnatural hum calling out to the very center of his soul. Like longing.

He was a wood elf.

Though strange the kinsmen of Mirkwood were in the eyes of those from the Galadhrim—clad simply and constantly for threat of war—the familiarity of their tie to Middle Earth's more soulful life should have connected them and caused their contact to resonate anything but pain. He could not persuade his own mind towards any comprehension of the experience.

His eyes stayed fixed on Legolas, but he leaned carefully and stiffly away from any possibility that they might touch. The Mirkwood elf was rolling his head back and forth on the ornate stone floor. His strong hands tightened into fists. Haldir wanted to still him but didn't dare try.

Exactly what the Lady of Light had seen concerning him, Haldir had not completely understood—but he feared it had already come to pass.

* * *

"My Lord!"

Elrond followed the voice.

In the stable above Legolas's horse hung a medallion, shining silvery white and black—two crescents, one crossing over the other. He seized it from its perch by grasping the leather cordage it hung from and flung it directly into the blacksmith's fire. It burned and hissed in the molten heat while they watched, distorting and morphing into angry metallic drips. From it, a loud and sudden crack sent a painful wail into the air so shrill the elves, including Elrond, bent and covered their ears.

The sound was followed by sapping silence—as though all sound had suddenly ceased to exist. Elrond straightened, catching the faint scent of their rivers in his nose. They could fight this. They would take back their haven from this foolish attempt at destruction.

"That will not be the only one," he said, breaking the others from their wonder. "Search the watchtowers—the borders—send word to our western gates."

Elves flew into action while he spoke. "Search the trees—any tree within the border of the river." His captains were visibly giving orders as he exited with them into the open entrance of the stable, standing in a pocket of calm amongst the gathering dark. He looked up to the balcony of the healing room, glimpsing Gandalf's guarded stance and moving lips. He could see nothing else.

One of his captains remained at his shoulder, waiting for the orders he still might give. Shifting his eye line, he focused. "Inform the Imladris Lords that our borders have been breached," Elrond ordered softly. He tore his gaze from the window, looking out into the forest that edged the valley across the river. Even with his keen eyes he could not see beyond the river—the seizing darkness lacing through the river's mist like a shroud.

"If he can be found, send word to Glorfindel. Tell him I have need of his return."

His captain succinctly nodded, but waited, seeming to sense his Lord was not finished.

Elrond sighed. Coming to a decision he whispered, "And when they can be spared, send riders into the woods beyond the river to collect my sons."

* * *

When Elrohir saw his brother fall a feeling more oppressive than anything currently surrounded them clutched at his soul. His entire focus centered on his brother and he became near heedless of anything else around him. He credited the shrill cutting sound in the air as a mere echo of his own internal cry, and registered the subtle change in the air only faintly—attributing the new breeze wisping past his ears to the pace of his descent.

He was moving fast—faster than he ever remembered moving. With elven speed and balance that would impress the most agile elf, Elrohir skimmed from branch to branch—descending nearly as fast as Elladan had fallen.

He'd almost reached ground when a swarthy claw closed around his throat—another yanking disparately on the shoulder of his tunic, ripping at his already bloody arm. Through his struggle he could see where Elladan lay—his dark hair swimming out from under the creature still on top of him.

He couldn't tell if either was alive.

Angered at being restrained he swung his sword behind his head and shoved himself back against the tree's low branch as he perched on it. Both creatures clutching him cried angrily at his actions. He'd injured at least one but hadn't dislodged either. Close to the ground now, he shifted forward, letting his weight carry the attackers with him, bracing his sword at his side.

He hit ground hard. The creatures landing on top of him with awkward heavy thuds, meeting his poised sword evenly. He readied himself to maintain the fight, but was soon certain and relieved that the two were neatly dead. Sucking in air, he shook his weapon loose. _How many more of them could there be? How many more could they defeat?_ The trees unrelentingly rustled with their presence, the air echoing their groans. Elrohir shoved out from under the swarthy bodies to press again towards Elladan, seeing movement in his direction.

The monster blocking his full view of Elladan turned to gleam at him. Murky teeth shadowing a scathing grin as the polished blade of Elladan's knife in the fiend's hand reflected the only light still leaking through the air.

Elrohir felt a growl build low in his throat and poised himself to fly.

* * *

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

"Mithrandir?" Haldir's reserved melodic voice cut into the wizard's mind as he circumspectly surveyed Elrond's activities. Though his eyes remained fixed on the elf lord below, his mind continually ran back to the young man and elf stretched across the floor behind him, some part of him aware of their every breath.

"Haldir," he acknowledged, without turning around. Below, he could see the shadows of the Noldor Elves following Elrond into the stable. Crashing thunder continued to rumble overhead as he watched. Tension swam through the air and abruptly he found himself bending with pain as the shadowy figures below bowed and covered their ears.

_What was that?_ he wondered, straightening carefully. Though shrouded in darkness he could see the elves below a touch more clearly. Most still clutched at their heads, hands clamped tightly over their elegant ears. Gandalf wondered at that, having felt a jolt of pain, but heard no noise.

Behind him, Haldir groaned—a soft controlled sound he could not ignore.

Turning quickly, Gandalf saw both Haldir and Legolas were curling in on themselves, the now common appearance of hurt crushing at the paleness in their faces. Between them, Aragorn remained dormant, motionless as the dead. Gandalf rushed anxiously from the window and spread his withered hand on the human's chest, relieved to feel he still breathed. He watched his face a moment, until finally a twitch of the man's forehead convinced him the ranger's life remained strong.

His eyes rested next on Haldir's white-knuckled grip—the elegant and strong fingers woven tightly over the man's tunic. When Gandalf looked up further, the elf from the Golden Wood was looking straight at him, but the sorrowful gaze sought something miles away.

"Haldir?" Gandalf questioned gently. The dim lamps from the corridor shimmered their reflections in the elf's eyes—the shaking matching rhythm with the thunder's next protest.

"Why can I not touch him?" asked Haldir, his eyes flickering to Legolas. "How could I have caused him pain?"

Gandalf nodded in understanding. He moved his own hand from Aragorn's chest and set it cautiously on Legolas's shoulder. Legolas remained stiff with the touch. The young elf had his eyes cinched closed, but behind his eyelids they could see the rapid movements his eyes were making. Gandalf had no eloquent answer for Haldir, and knew it best not to pretend he did.

They sat in silence until another ache ran through the wizard's body. It was met with moans from Legolas and Haldir, the latter covering his ears as Gandalf had seen Elrond's elves do before. Gandalf believed it was only the second of more such pains they would feel.

"Is it getting stronger?" asked Haldir.

"No," Gandalf answered hesitantly. "I believe it is getting weaker."

* * *

Elladan awoke, being dragged roughly across the ground by an intense grip on his wrists. He could see nothing but the shadows of trees and branches as he moved over the ground, and feel nothing but the jagged digs of the rocks and sticks that clawed at him. His head pounded and a strange ringing drowned out all other sound that he felt he should otherwise be hearing.

He tried to struggle, twisting his hands only to have them caught more tightly. Sluggishly, he tried to drag his feet, to catch them on something, but he could not seem to force his limbs to follow his orders.

Everything flashed by so quickly it felt incongruously as though time had stopped. _What of the orcs?_ He wondered. _What of Elrohir? What of the safety of Imladris?_

He twisted his hands again and the dragging stopped momentarily—but only momentarily. Something strong forewent his wrists, clutching instead at his collar. He felt a painful jab to his shoulder and hip. His vision clouded, blackness closing in at the edges just as the dragging started again.

* * *

Stretching a hand over the balcony, Gandalf laid his palm on the raw split wood of the tree standing near. It had once risen above the highest buildings in the valley—now cut just high enough to touch the boundaries of the healing room. The wounded tree creaked and swayed, the remaining branches straining in the light breeze.

The sky overhead remained dark, but unless Gandalf was allowing himself to be carried into delusion, it was a more natural dark, less oppressive. A storm brought of the natural elements. The bitterness he'd tasted in the air receded to the sweetness of river mist. The heavens continued to rumble but the lightning struck down farther and farther away.

A hand reached out and settled on the broken tree near his own fingers—Haldir had joined him on the balcony. Gandalf instinctively looked back at Aragorn. The ranger's head had been propped on a pillow, a thin covering thrown over his legs. Legolas's legs and torso had been covered as well, but his head still rested on the stone floor and it was obvious he'd been otherwise untouched.

"The ranger breathes on his own," said Haldir, still touching the tree.

"I am glad to hear it." Gandalf truly felt relieved. They had not been prepared for this. Perhaps this is what Haldir had come to warn them of—more dire news he was sure they couldn't take.

"I wish they would awake—it is not a natural sleep." The Lórien elf fixed on the Legolas's closed eyes.

"No," Gandalf said simply, withdrawing his hand from where it still rested on the tree's raw wood. "It is not. But it will pass."

"The trees sing an unnatural song," Haldir continued. "There is much sadness in their sound—confusion. But I think they feel now also—life."

Gandalf reached out with his senses. The familiar evil—the static power of dead air still hovered, but distantly, a morose outline of what it had been. The wizard's only remaining concern was if their victory would be completed or if this was portend to a continual battle like that of the Mirkwood elves.

As though in answer, a twist of wind hailed the first drop of rain—life cutting through death.

* * *

"Elladan!"

Elrohir had to again re-adjust his grip on his brother who was once again attempting to dislodge him. It wasn't the best way to move him, but Elrohir didn't have a choice. After tackling the creature hovering over his brother, he'd been lucky enough to roll away with the knife. He believed he could have fought the one but the other remaining orcs were already descending on them from the trees.

Clasping the knife he'd moved again at the creature, unable to kill it, but able to push it aside, sufficiently allowing him to seize his brother's arm and yank him towards cover.

It wasn't enough. He needed to get them to safer ground—more defensible ground.

He hadn't seen an orc since the rain started, but he could feel them, knew at the very least that one still pursued them and that currently they were easy prey. His options were limited. He didn't know where their horses were, and he couldn't stop moving long enough to attempt using his bow.

His current course of action was to keep them from being surrounded, and if attacked, keep them from being dead.

He dropped Elladan's wrists, catching his tunic instead. His brother's knife felt slick in his opposite hand, rain slipping into his palm from around the hilt as the skies continued to empty themselves of moisture. Still, he didn't pause. With his new grip he rushed them onward.

* * *

"How are they?" Elrond was justifiably wet but as he re-entered the healing room he still managed to carry with him the cloak of authority and control.

Haldir had returned to take vigil against the wall, lingering near the arches of the lanai, just out of the rain.

Gandalf moved forward. "They sleep—they seem free of distress."

Elrond bent over Legolas and Aragorn in turn, the cautious eye of a healer noting every detail of what might be amiss. With deliberate care, he shifted his arms under Legolas's shoulders and legs, looking up at Haldir in question, nodding his head to Aragorn. Hesitant at first, Haldir moved, skirting Legolas and Elrond to reach the ranger.

In swift gentle motions Elrond lifted Legolas onto the settee he'd occupied previous to their assault. Haldir silently lifted Aragorn onto another that Elrond indicated, while looking worn and weary. He stepped closer to Legolas after, watching as Elrond continued his examination, looking over his shoulder at the young ranger then back again.

Lord Elrond looked at him. "What do you sense?"

"They dream," said Haldir simply.

_Pleasant dreams_, Gandalf hoped. _Or at the very least, dreams that would not hold them for long._

* * *

_"Legolas."_

_The walls of Thranduil's court echoed the name, causing it to seem unnaturally loud to Legolas's ears. He paused waiting for the grating sound to cease before moving closer to where King Thranduil stood in the large empty room._

_"My Lord," he answered._

_"Legolas," Thranduil said again._

_Obsequiously the young elf inclined his head, crossing his palm over his heart then extending it out. The gesture was not simply customary. It was not an effortless greeting, nor meant to be. Among elves the gesture signified all the elemental hopes extended to another upon meeting or departing, stretching beyond straightforward goodwill or faith. It was reliance, loyalty, trust, and all else he could offer._

_In the world of men, he thought, the gesture would not be truly understood—not by most. To them it would hold no significance—an illusive illusion of honor just within their reach yet expansively overlooked._

_Legolas paused in his thoughts, disturbed that though he'd been freed from the world of men for some time, he still compared the habits of his people to those men he'd come to know. He had still not quite escaped them. Swallowing carefully, he pushed the disturbed feelings from his mind and looked carefully at his father, nearly expecting one of the concerned looks Lord Elrond so often cast in his direction—somehow always knowing where his thoughts had wandered._

_Thranduil was not looking at him at all. He had turned to face the windows, staring out into the distant trees, his crown obscuring the shadowed corner of his eye._

_"Ada?" questioned Legolas._

_Thranduil did not answer._

_Something uncomfortable pricked up Legolas's spine. "Ada?" Carefully, he searched his father's stance. Still Thranduil did not look at him._

_"Legolas," his father repeated again. "You are here."_

_"Yes," Legolas answered carefully, his eyes flashing as he cocked his head slightly to the side, wanting to see Thranduil through the shadows being cast from the trees outside the window. "I was given leave to return." _

_He waited for more._

_Suddenly his father's court seemed unnaturally empty, devoid of sound, and very very cold. A trembling shiver skimmed the surface of his skin. Legolas felt confused. Elves did not experience cold easily. Looking around the room, he stared out the windows, seeking some clue to this chill. The dense trees allowed enough light between them to convince him the sun was indeed shinning. _

_Perhaps I was not as ready to return as I believed, he thought, not wanting the sentiment to be true._

_Uncomfortable, he pushed the thoughts aside._

_He was grateful when, again, his father finally spoke. "Where did you go?"_

_His confusion deepened, flaring unhidden in his eyes. He wished his father would look at him. "Before?" he questioned, unsure of what was meant. Thranduil had known he was in Imladris. Representatives from Mirkwood had come to Rivendell upon his recovery._

_There was no response to his request for clarification._

_After a moment, Legolas attempted an answer, "I ventured into the forgotten realms of Arnor. I felt compelled to see them." Unexpectedly he felt the need to justify himself. "I had been dreaming of the D__ú_nedain." He had never told Thranduil, or anyone else, of these dreams and wondered why he did so now, particularly considering the subject matter. "I was dreaming of the Disaster of the Gladden Fields, where Isildur lost his life and the one ring. Where you tried to hasten to his rescue, to reach the D___ú_nedain in his company in time to keep them from being slaughtered, but were unable to do so. In the dream, I am with you, though I know I was not really there. In later dreams I traveled further, following forgotten roads in search of the rangers, pulled by something... something I cannot name."  


_"Dreams do not always lead us out of danger, Legolas, nor do they always lead to what things we should seek out," Thranduil countered, casting him a small glance before resuming vigil out the window._

_"It is true, for in none of my travels did I cross paths with them," he admitted, feeling the resurgence of events that previously seemed an eternity away. "Though the lands I rode through felt... familiar."  
_

_"The D______ú_nedain are a hidden people, travelers in the shadows, protecting those who journey without dark intentions—yet they did not protect you," his father replied. His voice was flat.

_Legolas swallowed. "No."_

_"It is not like our people to wander so."_

_Legolas felt the reprove though truth and untruth sat in the statement. Archaically, he wished he could return to the age when his wanderings had been his own and against no ruler's mandates. Never before had Thranduil made issue of them, trusting him to his skill and experience._

_"I did not intend my absence to be so long." Legolas didn't know what else he could say—the feeling of uncertainty was uncomfortable._

_"You should not have left. I've allowed your wanderings for far too long." Thranduil's voice still sounded hollow._

_"Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to stay away."_

_"I began to wonder… where you had gone."_

_Silence hung between them for a long time, the cold again prickling at the skin along Legolas's arms. Thranduil continued to stare out the window. _

_Confusion gained ruling power in the young elf's mind. What now was he expected to say?_

_"Did you need me here, Ada?" he measured._

_Thranduil gave no answer._

_"Ada?" The cold crept down his spine._

_"Adar, did you need me here? …My Lord?" _

_Why wouldn't his father look at him? _

_"My Lord?"_

_Thranduil spared him a brief glance with his toneless answer. "No."_

* * *

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

(Yes, I've again picked up the threads of this story after its long long abandonment, but be forewarned, it could be very slow going.)**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 11 ****  
**

* * *

Elladan opened his eyes, feeling rivulets of water run across his face. He blinked into the raining sky and rolled to his side, abruptly breathing in the mist from the river.

The Imladris river.

The River Bruinen.

He was at the _Edge of the Wild_—the ford crossing into his home. Sinking his elbow into the soil of the bank, he let his head tip forward, as if preparing to receive benediction. Momentarily unconcerned with how he'd arrived, he shook for a second, clinging to the sounds of life in the atmosphere, then swiped the water from his face and filled his lungs with relief.

_Elrohir!_ he thought next, curling his knee inward and jerking upright.

"I am here," said Elrohir calmly, dropping next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "The horses too. They arrived before we did."

Elladan scanned his brother's face, sweeping his gaze down his body to take in his injuries, seeing blood but no life threats. He glanced beyond him to where their mounts pawed at the riverbank. Across the ford, he could see riders from the Guard scrambling down to meet them. "Imladris," he said, barely a whisper.

Feeling the need to check, he tore his eyes away from the blessed sight and looked over his shoulder.

The forest behind them was quiet.

Elrohir tightened the grip on his shoulder slightly. "We are no longer being pursued, but I fear from this conflict we have only gained a temporary reprieve. We should seize it while we can. Ada will be worrying for us. Aragorn and Legolas too."

With Elrohir's help, Elladan stood from the mud, nodding his head as rain slid down his neck. "Let us go."

* * *

Gently, Elrond locked a hand beneath Legolas's head and with Gandalf's help, tilted him onto his side to reach the remaining reopened wounds on his back and shoulder. He paused as he cleaned away the dried smears of blood, contemplating the pattern of the cuts—the way they crossed, one arching over the other. Crescents. The shape he'd seen on the medallion in the stable before he'd tossed it into the blacksmith's fire—the same symbol reportedly seen on the additional medallions located within the borders of his realm before being destroyed by the Guard.

Pressing carefully on each wound in turn, Elrond frowned at their fresh appearance. It was as if Legolas had received the injuries only hours ago instead of days or weeks… or months. He could no longer guess how long they'd been there. The bruises and scrapes across the young elf's body also — they were all newly discolored and changed in hue.

With the echo of Legolas's scream resounding in his memory, Elrond shook his head, trying to make sense of these pieces, trying to add them to things that still felt so improbable.

"What magic of the dark brings this here?"he whispered, glancing at Gandalf, whose own serious expression reflected back the same question. _Had they truly brought Legolas out of Mirkwood, only to have the evil pursue him?_

"My Lord?" The reverie was broken by the voice of a guard stepping into the entryway, feet light and strong on the warm stone floor. "Your sons have crossed the river. They are on approach."

Keeping his hands steady on Legolas's shoulder, Elrond traded quick looks with Gandalf and Haldir, then turned his head to face the messenger. "Are they well?"

"Well enough," the guard stated, but he glanced around the room, as though taking account for whether Elrond had space for them, or whether another room ought to be prepared or additional healers called for.

Elrond turned his head again, seeking the wizard.

"I shall go out to meet them," agreed Gandalf before he could be asked. "We will join you shortly. Come," he said to the guard.

In the soft tapping of their departing steps, Elrond gazed down over Legolas's back and through the window, feeling the breath of anxiety lessen its touch against his skin. Outside, rain continued to fall steadily, but the atmosphere was settling. The Imladris Guard was vigilantly watching the borders, wary for another breach, and his sons were returning. With Haldir's news from Lórien, perhaps they'd gain answers before the threat could rise again.

Putting all the power of healing within him into the task before him, Elrond concentrated on dressing the wounds of his charge.

Taking Gandalf's position, Haldir drew near, keeping himself stoically still, not touching the divan. He was watching the process steadily, though his eyes revealed the fear that remained within him as he glimpsed his kinsman.

After a few moments, Elrond spoke. "Haldir," he said, gesturing him closer. "You must hold this bandage steady while I place the wrap to maintain it."

Haldir stared at him, glancing to the wounds on Legolas's shoulder. "My Lord," he began to protest—stiffly, respectfully.

"Haldir," Elrond interrupted, "whatever this attack intended to accomplish, the introduction of doubt was among its weapons. Doubt that should not separate the kinsmen of the woodland realms." He lowered his voice. "By some twisted magic it corrupted that connection. We must not give into it. And to be certain whatever poisoned the air has left us…" he let the statement hang there, waiting.

Closing his eyes, Haldir nodded. Tentatively, he flexed his hand and placed it cautiously over the bandage, watching for the reaction on Legolas's face.

The young elf twitched. His eyebrows drew inward and he rocked his head.

"No," said Elrond gently, stopping Haldir when he otherwise might have removed his hand. "What do you sense?"

Focusing, Haldir nodded, a look of relief flooding his eyes. "He wakes. His pain is diminished. The dreams release him."

"And me," spoke Aragorn groggily from behind them. "They release me also." Wearily, he was shifting up from his prone position, dropping his legs off the side of the divan he'd been placed on, and leaning his back against the wall. He had a hand pressed to his chest, and an expression on his face, as though surprised by the ease of moving air in and out of his lungs.

"Young Aragorn of the Dúnedain," greeted Haldir formally, sounding further relieved.

Under Elrond's hands, Legolas blinked, a swirl of recognition highlighting the contrasts in his eyes. He reached a loose hand up, folding it over Elrond's wrist, halting the wrap of the bandage around his shoulder as he said very softly, "Aragorn? Son of Arathorn?"

"Yes," confirmed Elrond simply. "Yes."

* * *

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

Having switched positions to a low bench near the windows, Aragorn tilted his head against the wall and stared at the high ceiling, listening distantly to his brothers' voices as they recounted their battle in the woods while being treated by their father.

"They attacked from the trees," said Elladan, his voice hissing with the slight rasp of pain, "as if bred for that very purpose."

"They moved through the branches nearly as well as an elf," agreed Elrohir. "And as silently. More silently as the atmosphere darkened. As though they belonged among them."

At the reminder of the strange atmospheric magic they'd been subjected to, Aragorn felt prompted to fill his lungs with air, savoring the light expansion in his chest.

"I would hope to imagine those trees did not think so," Haldir commented quietly, after which there was a murmur of silence.

Aragorn felt a strange cord of dissonance thrum through the air with the words and thought he could feel Legolas's agreement. He glanced at the elf only to find his eyes closed. He was nearly surprised to find them such. Though subtle about it, since they'd both woken, Legolas had been watching him again, watching him as he had in the courtyard. The look remained scrutinizing, though some of the puzzlement was gone.

Like Aragorn, Legolas had abandoned his prone position, having dropped his legs off the divan's side with his back balanced gingerly against the light stone. With his eyes closed, he nearly seemed stone himself, as though he'd been turned to statue.

After staring at the still figure a moment more, Aragorn rolled his head to stare down at the valley. The rain had turned into a steady drizzle, making Imladris sing with the continuous light drumming. It was a persistent rainfall, having gone on so long Aragorn wondered if its goal was to truly wash all traces of the day's evil away.

He rubbed his chest as he thought it, and drew another breath. It could take a very long time, that being the case. A very long time indeed. How such darkness had managed to defy the protection of Elrond's magic and penetrate this realm still felt beyond his comprehension.

"In the midst of it," said Elladan, "I thought I heard you scream, my brother. There was a scream on the air, and it sounded just like you."

Aragorn blinked and turned his head. It took him a moment to realize Elladan was speaking to Legolas who had opened his eyes once more. The elf's eyes were dark with a deep sorrow that sent another reminder of pain to Aragorn's chest. He pressed his hand to it, feeling his heart beat calmly.

"Be careful, my son," spoke Elrond, moving his body, breaking the line of sight between Elladan and Legolas as he coaxed Elladan down to his side.

"And of their numbers?" grumbled Gandalf, drawing Aragorn's attention. The wizard was seated in a chair near Legolas, a frown on his face. The broken shield Elrohir and Elladan had brought back with them was being turned over in his hands. "Any sense regarding their numbers?"

"Only that there were more than we two would have been able to defeat on our own," admitted Elrohir with a quick glance at his twin.

"We were followed first by a scout," explained Elladan, "then came the battle party." He shook his head ruefully. "I had the unfortunate feeling that our crossing paths with them was happenstance, and that perhaps they were only one party of many."

"And that we were not their purpose," added Elrohir. "I believe they would have pursued us further otherwise."

Haldir lifted his head. For a moment, it looked as though he might say something.

Lord Elrond and Gandalf both glanced at him.

"Your news from Lórien," prompted Elrond. "Might it shed light on these events?"

"It may, perhaps," said Haldir. "And it may well enough and soon enough be information to all, but the Lady Galadriel bade me seek your counsel first, if possible." His eyes flickered towards Legolas, then back, and Elrond nodded.

Legolas drew his chin down, the barest wrinkle weaving through his brow.

Feeling his discomfort, though knowing little could be done for it, Aragorn stood, and made his way to the shelf with Legolas's clothing. He left the tunic but picked up the shirt. "Ada?" he questioned softly, holding it up, feeling the need to ask permission.

Legolas stared at him, and Aragorn had to pause a moment to remember if Legolas had, as of yet, heard him address Lord Elrond so informally—previously, he'd seemed to accept well enough the idea of Elrond having taken him in as a son, but there was something to his current expression that seemed to belie that, something he could not place. He waited, meeting the elf's eyes cautiously. Legolas held the stare a moment longer, then moved his eyes away with a dip to his head that seemed to indicate respect.

Aragorn was uncertain what to make of it.

"With help," cautioned Elrond, indicating the shirt. "The cuts on his shoulder have deepened. We cannot have them reopened."

Nodding at his father, Aragorn moved towards the divan, unfolding the shirt as he passed it over.

Legolas watched him as he did so, leaning forward off the wall tiredly as he accepted the clothing. "I thank you," he said quietly, adjusting the material with his own fingers in preparation to fit it over his head. Watching from the side, Haldir stepped to Aragorn's shoulder and as Legolas began to lift his arms to pull it on, Haldir and Aragorn together helped guide the process through to completion, leaving the ties on the shirt unfinished.

"You remain weakened," cautioned Haldir. "You must take care."

"I should not have come here," whispered Legolas, staring down as he adjusted the hem. "I have brought darkness to Imladris. To Lord Elrond." He darted a glance at Aragorn. "And to his family. This realm and what it holds must remain protected. Mirkwood's battle cannot come here."

Haldir sighed slowly. When he looked at Aragorn, the blue in his eyes seemed briefly expressionless before he pressed his hand flat to the divan next to Legolas's knee and lowered his voice. "As Lord Elrond counseled me this same day, young Legolas, in this cause, doubt is the weapon of the enemy. You are here because the White Council wishes it. You must trust it to be so. We will not leave you to darkness. Nor will whatever pursues you bring the ruin you believe."

Legolas stared up at him, his expression raw.

Aragorn remembered keenly the hand Legolas had placed on his shoulder during the height of that strange atmospheric dark—remembering with gratitude the way it had lifted the weight of despair that had descended into his lungs.

He felt his fingers flutter, reaching for the elf's bicep, wishing with his touch, he could do the same.

"Legolas," a new voice slid into the conversation. Gandalf had risen and stepped close, still holding the broken shield. "Haldir speaks truth. And if I could command you to listen to him, and believe him, I would. But I'm afraid I have a more difficult demand of you at this time, young Thranduilion. No longer can your secrets remain your own. Though I well understand the difficultly in revealing what you've been facing in your kingdom, and your desire to hold your battles as your own, the time has come for you to speak."

* * *

tbc


End file.
